


Link of Ordonia

by BlackAncalagon



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Inspired by The Witcher, Syncretic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 59,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26060227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackAncalagon/pseuds/BlackAncalagon
Summary: Link is an orphan--nothing new, there. But instead of finding a home and a family in pleasant little Ordonia, he is taken in by a professional monster slayer, a knight errant loyal only to the reward for a bounty and a strict code of honor... or not. Follow our familiar green-clad hero as he completes his training and takes his first stumbling steps into a not-so familiar world. Expect a fair number of monsters from both the Continent and Hyrule to get in his way. Who knows, there may even be a princess (or two) at the end (or somewhere along the way).
Relationships: Link/Midna (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 124
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Witcher Saga is something of a recent addiction for me, but is definitely one of my favorite franchises, be it game or book or television show. I can't get enough of Geralt and the gang! But one aspect of Geralt's adventure that we never really see much of in the books or games is his early life. Geralt in the novels and games already knows all there is to know (or at least he THINKS he does... "there are no such things as gold dragons" my ass.) This, I think, contributes to the story and characterization of those in it, because so often the main character explores and learns about a world in a fantasy setting just as the audience does. A hundred-year-old monster slayer has seen it all, and reacts appropriately.  
> I chose to use a Zelda wrapper for my Witcher story. Is that weird? I don't think so, but maybe you do. So hear me out, right? Or just skip on ahead to the story, either works.  
> For one, it's been done before. It would be criminal for me to not acknowledge a work that encouraged me to write this (which also happens to be only my second work of fiction, and my first fanfiction). The Wolf of Farore is fantastic! Go look it up after reading this. It's too bad there hasn't been an update in a while, but it is lengthy enough to keep you occupied for a good while.  
> For a second, the two bear vast similarities, even if the major tones differ drastically. For the most part, I felt that most of the major characters and factions in one work had a direct or indirect counterpart. It felt like I was playing a game of connect-the-dots at times, doing story planning and creating character notes. Hopefully, you'll see what I mean soon enough.  
> Third, pretty much all we see is Link's childhood. This is as much of a "what about a young Geralt/Witcher?" as it is an eventual "what about a (more) grown up Link?"  
> Lastly... I just really like both franchises, and by sheer force of willpower, I will see this through. It. Will. Work.
> 
> TL;DR  
> Goal: make a mild dark fantasy Zelda AU superimposed on a thoroughly Witcher skeleton.  
> Goal: tell the story of a younger Witcher.
> 
> So, that being said, enjoy!

Link had a choice to make and only about an eighth of a second to decide. He could feel the air move as his quarry rushed towards his body.

It came down to muscle memory, as it so often did. His sword flew forward, delivering a slicing blow to his invisible assailant and sending it flying backwards. He allowed himself something between a grin and a grimace, his confidence boosted by knowing he made the right choice yet his arm complaining from fatigue and strain.

But despite his arm’s protest--no, his whole body’s protest--he couldn’t stop now. Chains rattled and wood creaked behind the swordsman.

Link spun in a tight pirouette, preparing to put the force of his whole body into his next blow. But he never got a chance: a sudden pain erupted in the back of his head, causing his foot to fall through air instead of landing on the next pillar.

Link crashed into the grass below, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. He could hear all-too familiar laughter above him.

Colin’s indignant whine cut through the mirth. “Groose, that was mean! Why couldn’t you just let Link finish and wait your turn?”

“Link was just showing off, runt. He wouldn’t last a minute in a real fight. Now scram, and let me show you how it’s done.”

Several meters below, Link groaned and tugged off his blindfold. The morning sun greeted his eyes in a rather unwelcome manner and the cool mountain air made them sting.

Above him were the pendulums: twelve wooden pillars staked into the ground and a couple of dummies suspended above for good measure. As if hopping from pillar to pillar while swatting the dummies out of your way wasn’t already difficult enough, the exercise was to be completed with a blindfold.

“Forgetting something, Groosie?” Link called, waving the white strip of cloth.

The boy on the pillars huffed. “In a real fight, I wouldn’t be blindfolded. Now get out of my way! You’ll have time to lie in the dirt after failing your Trials!” 

He was looking for a fight, but Link wasn’t going to give it to him. The looming Trials were on all the older trainee’s minds, but it was obvious that some handled the stress better than others.

Link got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his pants. Without a word, he wadded up the blindfold and tossed it to Groose, then turned towards the Great Hall. Colin slid down the stone rampart to join him, casting a dirty look towards Groose as he went.

The pair walked along the ruins of a once-magnificent wall, reduced from proud and tall mortared stone to rubble that rivaled little Colin in height. Claiming that the Keep had seen better days would be an understatement: the ruins were in better shape during a successful siege over a hundred years ago, and despite the feeble attempts by the Keep’s occupants to reverse the effects of time and erosion, the walls and quite a few of the buildings remained in a pitiful state.

But just as the stones rested lifeless on the ground, Colin absolutely radiated life and energy. The pair walked in silence for only a couple paces before Colin exploded in a shower of praise. “Wow, Link! You were incredible out there! If that big oaf hadn’t thrown that rock at your head, I bet you would have lasted till noon!”

Link only chuckled and scratched the back of his head. He was a bit concerned when his hand came away slick and red, but he wiped it on his shirt before Colin could notice. He’d have to get Rusl to take a look at it before tomorrow.

“I gotta admit, the prick’s got a knack for projectiles.” Link said, wincing as he recalled previous trips to the infirmary. “Accidents,” he had called them, but all of the trainees knew better.

Colin shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. But he’s not half the swordsman you are! I bet you could beat him with your right hand tied behind your back!”

Link nodded in agreement, partly to appease the younger boy, but also because he was ambidextrous.

Colin’s face lit up with excitement, an imaginary showdown between the older trainees already playing through his head. The boy’s eyes twinkled brighter than the sparks flying from steel on steel, and his hands twitched like he was delivering each blow himself. After a couple seconds of this, he groaned and dropped to the ground, holding his stomach.

“Oh no, Link! You have bested me, and delivered a mortal wound to my body and my pride! And my hair is lame…”

“Alright, alright. That’s enough about Groose.” Link said, finding it impossible not to smile at the pantomime. “After breakfast, you’re studying with Rusl, right? Are you still reading up on redeads?

Colin’s expression dimmed dramatically. “Yeah. Necrophages and Other Undead.”

As the pair arrived at the Great Hall, the talk of undead ceased for both their appetites’ sake. Although Link couldn’t remember whose turn it was to cook--sometimes a dangerous mistake--a pleasant smell greeted him as he pushed open the great double doors and walked through the enormous stone archway.

This morning, the hall was almost entirely empty. This wasn’t unusual, especially considering the upcoming Trials. The younger trainees enjoyed a break from morning training while the instructors and older trainees each made their own final preparations for tomorrow’s events.

Colin, Link realized, had gotten up just to see him tackle the pendulums that morning.

Even at dinner, though, and even with some of the graduated knights wintering in the Keep, the hall was never busy. There would always be more decaying trophies of fierce monsters lining the walls than trainees and instructors. Not even old master Gaepora could remember an era when more than two dozen trainees learned under the Keep’s ruined rooftops at any one time. The imminent Trials had the potential to leave Colin very lonely.

Link shook the thought from his head as he advanced towards the firepit between tables in the middle of the room. He could see sausages sizzling on a spit and a thick oatmeal bubbling beside the fire. And, of course, he could easily spot the chef.

The knight stood only a hair taller than Link, a good half meter over Colin. He wore a yellow tunic over his mail, colors that distinguished him from those yet to ascend to knighthood.

“Hey, Pipit. Smells good.” Link said, already spooning some oats onto his plate.

“‘Course it does. Gotta keep your strengths up for the Trials, don’t ya?”

Since master Gaepora announced the upcoming Trials a month ago, Colin had tried to weedle every detail out of the instructors. Much to his frustration, they only explained to him the basics: a trainee would be injected with mutagens and exposed to magic, and then tasked with surviving in the wilderness for a week in the winter. Any who survived passed the Trials.

But what Colin so desperately craved were the minutiae: what, exactly, caused the transformation of rounded pupils to slits? Where did this magic come from? How much did the process hurt? Was it reversible? What were the side effects?

Colin understood that a person’s Trials are a very personal affair, but curiosity got the better of him. Before him was a knight who had passed his trials a year ago and had just arrived at the Keep for the winter.

“So, what’s it like? Link’s going to make it through, right?”

Pipit smiled, nodding. “Link’s a trooper, Colin. You know that he’ll do just fine.”

Colin nodded, seemingly satisfied despite half of his question remaining unanswered.

Link felt that Pipit hadn’t meant to just comfort the younger initiate with his words. He found himself grinning along with Colin as they took their seats at the long table.

Was Link nervous? His hands didn’t shake as they dug into the oatmeal. His face betrayed nothing, and you couldn’t divine how he felt from looking at his eyes. All in all, his typical stoic demeanor would lead most to believe that he wasn’t concerned at all with the looming Trials.

Rusl wasn’t like most, however. When the old knight sat down across the table from Link, when he cast a piercing gaze across a plate of sausages, he knew exactly what thoughts tumbled around Link’s head. Perhaps he even remembered his own Trials, all those years ago.

“Courage,” he said, spearing a sausage with his knife. “Isn’t about not being afraid, Link.”

Colin looked around, as if searching for something to write down his instructor’s words. Link pointed across the table where someone had left a pencil, and wasn’t at all surprised when Colin nodded appreciatively, dashed over, and snatched it. The youth dove back into his seat, pencil held ready over an open notebook that nobody had seen a second before.

The other occupants of the hall--still only Link, Rusl, and Pipit--laughed at the young trainee’s antics.

“Relax, Colin. You aren’t going to be tested on this. You will be tested on Necrophages in an hour, however, so I hope that you have looked over your notes. This is just some friendly advice, passed down from one generation of knights to the next.”

Colin’s eager grin died on his face . “An hour?” he squeaked in surprise. “Sorry, Link, I’ve gotta go! Good luck with your training today! Show that old Groose who’s going to be a real knight, alright?”

Colin sprinted towards the door, but almost collided with it as it burst open. Groose, Strich, and Cawlin sauntered into the hall. Colin yelped and tried to dodge past them into safety, but found himself pinned to the door by a tuft of red hair and the goon attached to it.

“Hey, watch it, pipsqueak!” Groose said, bending down to bring his face close to Colin’s.

Link lurched to his feet, scraping the bench on the stone floor with a strident screech.

Groose’s beady eyes darted over to Link, offering Colin enough of a distraction to scamper out the door. Not for the first time, the youngest trainee’s small frame aided his escape.

Link adjusted the bench under him and returned to his meal. He didn’t look up as Groose sneered at him, nor did he pay the brute any heed as he walked over to the firepit, roughly bumping Link as he passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think of the first chapter? I am (hopefully not too obviously painfully) new to this, and would appreciate any feedback. Really. Anything. Review Shrek the Musical in the comments section, for all I care. It at least lets me know somebody out there is reading this.  
> As far as updates go... I'm a student. College is hard. I can't promise any strict schedule, but I've got everything planned and a good chunk of words on paper. It's only a matter of time.


	2. Chapter 2

Link sat at his desk, tapping his pen against an old, yellowed, but otherwise unmarked sheet of paper. He had at most an hour before the elders were prepared to administer the first of his three Trials, and wanted to write down his thoughts, just in case they happened to be some of his last.

Try as he might, however, the page remained blank and his mind full of the events soon to transpire. 

Link thought of the thick leather straps that would bind him to the table, preventing him from thrashing about from the pain of toxins coursing through his body. He tried to imagine the feeling of acid flowing through his veins, damaging him so that, if he didn’t die of anaphylactic shock, he could rebuild himself stronger, faster, and more resilient than a normal Hylian.

Of course, thoughts such as these tended to spawn thoughts of death itself. Naturally, that’s where his mind wandered next. He knew that, statistically speaking, not all of the initiates would survive the Trials. He knew that of the five to attempt the last set of Trials, only Pipit and Mido passed. None save master Gaepora knew the odds, and even then only from years and years of overseeing the Trials. Regardless, Link suspected that his chances of seeing the sun rise again were not high.

His pen went to the page again, but like the last time and the time before that, no words appeared. Who would he write to? He had no family. Like most of the other trainees, he was an orphan brought in by one of the knights errant.

Link once asked master Gaepora about the knight who brought him in, but the old instructor only told him that he had died shortly after returning to the Keep. Link was merely a toddler then; the only detail he recalled was that the knight had worn an odd tri-horned helm. 

Rusl came the closest to being a father to Link, but writing a letter to him seemed pointless. The old knight had a knack for picking up on Link’s thoughts, so the paper seemed like a useless medium. Beyond that, Rusl would momentarily escort Link to that cold, hard table. What could he write that he couldn’t just explain on the way?

Link rolled the pen back in forth between his fingers. What about Colin? The kid adored Link and deserved some sort of goodbye, but Link felt his resolve weaken as he dipped the nib in ink and positioned the pen at the top of the page to begin the address.

Colin had refused to let Link say a formal goodbye at dinner that night, settling instead for a “see you later” when all of the initiates retired for the evening. 

A purple blotch of ink marred the page. _Quite a legacy_ , he thought.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t write a note to Colin, and he certainly wouldn’t write one to any of the other initiates. Groose made Link sick, Cawlin and Strich were never particularly friendly, and although Fledge was nice enough, Link didn’t feel any particular kinship with the kid. Link put the paper, ink, and pen away.

By now, it had to be close to midnight; Rusl would come for him soon. Link peered outside his window, gazing at the starry sky. For a brief moment, the full moon seemed to leer down at him.

Ducking his head back in the window, Link looked around his cramped room, wondering if it would be the last time. His few possessions were neatly tucked away, and everything was orderly. Beneath his bed rested the only other set of clothes he owned, identical to the nondescript tan pants and grey shirt he had on currently. They were neatly folded next to his suit of chainmail, which had begun to feel a bit tight since last season.

And finally, his prized possession, the only item he still had from before he was taken in as a trainee: a brown clay ocarina sat concealed in a nook in the rafters. Link considered it a miracle that Groose and his cronies hadn’t managed to find and destroy it, as often as they heard Link practicing in the odd hours of the night. Somehow, the music always seemed to calm him, and while he had no music to read (or even knowledge of how to read sheet music, if he ever acquired any) he could play any drinking song an errant knight brought back to the Keep after hearing it once or twice. 

His favorite piece, however, wasn’t a drinking song. Link, for the life of him, couldn’t recall exactly where he first heard the tune, but he knew it had been some time ago. Link also occasionally had trouble remembering the melody; while he never forgot a bawdy ballad or a drinking ditty, the ability to play this curious melody would escape him for weeks on end only to pop into his head during training or out hunting in the woods near the keep.

At the moment, the song was running loud and clear in his head, but his thoughts of playing it once more were interrupted by a knock on the door.

The walk to the alchemical wing wasn’t long. Rusl and Link travelled down three flights of stairs and across two hallways: one long, a right hand turn, and another short. There were only a hundred and twenty-eight steps--counted to quell the initiate’s rising nerves--but with each, the walls became more suffocating.

Link and Rusl exchanged no words on the journey. Only at the door to the final chamber did Rusl stop and turn to Link.

“Look, son… you’ve got a choice to make.” Rusl said. Moonlight cast long shadows from behind a rubble-strewn parapet, leaving both shrouded in darkness. Rusl’s eyes, yellowed and cat-like, gleamed. 

Link had no doubt that the old knight could see now just as well as he could during a sunny day. Rusl had the mutations to thank for that.

The trainee stared at his mentor for a second, scrutinizing his weathered face for any sign of comfort. Finding none, Link only shook his head, resigned to his fate.

Rusl sighed, though Link could only guess whether from relief or disappointment. He knocked on the door, and after hearing an affirming cough, swung the old oak barrier open wide. Light spilled from the threshold. Link walked in and Rusl followed, letting the door close behind them.

The small room was well lit, but the output of two dozen candles was far from warm or comforting. Shadows danced around five tables, two of which were already occupied and covered entirely by a white cloth. Link observed no movement from those tables.

The breath caught in Link’s throat. “Wh-wh-who?” was all he could manage, raising a limp arm to point to the covered tables.

Master Gaepora just shook his head, no more chatty than ever. He walked over to an empty table and beckoned Link over. A frown was etched into his face, his features cool as the very stones of the Keep.

Link’s vision started to become fuzzy, and he could hear his heart beating in his chest. His legs refused to cooperate; he stood, frozen, between the door and the table, between escape and a death no more dignified than a failed experiment.

“Link,” master Gaepora said, his voice gravel and his gaze a blade. “This is your destiny.”

Legs willing and goddesses permitting, escape was a distinct possibility. Rusl wouldn’t give chase. He’d understand. Link could make it all the way to Ordonia, and live out the rest of his days as a goat-herder. For one heart wrenching moment, he could picture a family with flawless lucidity: a pretty blonde wife holding a sleeping babe in each arm. Her smile looked impossibly real.

Link shook his head, clearing his vision of a fantasy that would never come to pass. He took one shaky step forward, then another. He lowered himself onto the table and took a deep breath. He didn’t flinch when the leather bonds were tightened around his wrists, ankles, and neck. He was gagged, a strip of leather preventing him from screaming or biting off his own tongue as the poison slowly entered his veins.


	3. Chapter 3

Blood tickled his throat as it left his tongue, bleeding despite the gag. It was blood, his blood, that tasted so foreign in his mouth. The sour tang was still there, but now it was bitter as well, and less viscous than before.

Link’s attempt to swallow failed. His muscles didn’t even twitch as he tried, over and over again, to clear the foul taste from his mouth. His panic rising, Link tried to open his eyes, or move a finger. Nothing.

 _At least there is no pain_ , a voice echoed dimly in the back of Link’s head.

Link corrected himself. There HAD been pain, for sure. He wasn’t sure how long he endured the feeling of fire in his veins, whether minutes or hours or days, but it must have eventually robbed him of his consciousness. He didn’t remember it stopping.

But now, as sure as Link was completely immobile, the pain was gone. This information, coupled with absolutely no knowledge of what to expect, was terrifying. Had he passed? Was he moments away from death?

Link heard the door's sharp creak and the muffled shuffling of footsteps on the stone floor. Both noises seemed unnecessarily strident; was this visitor attempting to make a racket? Link caught the scent of the stranger’s leather outfit, and the sweat and dirt rubbed in from years of use. The smell was familiar, even if Link couldn’t quite place it.

“How are they?”

The concern in Rusl’s tone pleased Link, but not nearly as much as simply the voice’s presence. The initiate tried once again to move a muscle, any muscle, to show that he was all right, for his mentor’s sake. He failed to even twitch an eyebrow.

Link heard the joints of an old chair groan in protest followed by the sound of softly rustling fabric.

“There’s no longer a ‘they’, I’m afraid.”

That was master Gaepora. He sighed, and Link sensed his approach.

“With only four to attempt the Trial, I suppose we should count ourselves lucky that at least one boy managed to survive the night, and the preliminary trials. But... Link here is hardly out of the woods yet.”

Link’s head swam as he tried to process all that master Gaepora said. Any fuzzy conclusion that he could have formed faded as a series of metallic clicks robbed him of his attention. Metal struck glass, producing a clear ringing that still hung in the air as Link felt something pinch his arm. From that point, a chill spread to his fingers and through his shoulder to the rest of his body.

Link felt a warmth in the hand opposite, however. Someone--no, not just someone--Rusl had taken his hand. Link heard a mumbled prayer to the goddesses, and then master Gaepora’s voice.

“Alright. Let the fun begin.”

Pain blossomed in his arm, following the same route from his arm to the rest of his body that the chill had moments earlier. Link spasmed against his restraints before falling back, unconscious from the pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keeping track of the days was impossible, but Link was fairly certain that he had been awake at least a couple times before he finally came to in a real bed, his wrists and ankles unbound although heavily scabbed over.

Link enjoyed the taste of the air and the action of breathing, even if the air tasted like the blood crusting his lips and every exhale sent a dull ache through his chest. He was alive, and he was grateful.

Eventually, however, Link’s bliss melted into boredom. As happy as he was to be breathing, he couldn’t just lie there forever. He wanted to get up and determine the extent of the changes to his body. Were his eyes like Rusl’s now, black slits in a golden frame? Was he already more flexible, faster, and stronger, or would those changes take time to develop?

Link lifted an arm slowly, in an experiment. To his great relief, his body once again obeyed his commands, and although the blankets felt unusually coarse against his raw skin, everything seemed to be in order. He sat up and cautiously looked around. The midday sun proved to be too much for Link’s unaccustomed eyes, forcing him to squint and blink until he was no longer blinded. 

Link discovered that he was in fact lying in his own bed, in his own room. Logically, this made sense, although he found it a bit odd that he didn’t remember being brought up the three flights of crumbling stairs--the journey was difficult enough on foot, without an unconscious body in tow.

But, Link figured, none of that mattered now. He was back in his room, and everything was exactly as he left it. Well, besides the body of a young boy slumped over his desk. Colin was snoring away, almost imperceptibly softly. The book _Introduction to Draconids_ lay open as a pillow of sorts. Link found it odd that he could read the text, even across the room.

Link cleared his throat, an action he didn’t remember being so painful. Luckily, it was enough to wake the sleeping trainee, who bolted upright and spun around to the bed, nearly falling off the chair in the process. Link feared that the boy would pounce on him, but Colin only grinned like a maniac and scrambled for the door.

“LinkI’mSoGladYou’reAwakeButHoldOnRuslSaidHeWantedMeToComeGetHimTheSecondYouWokeUp!”

As an afterthought, Colin added: “Be right back,” and fled the room.

Link blinked twice.

He didn’t have to wait long for an explanation. Colin returned without a minute’s hesitation, Rusl in tow. The old knight pressed a glass phail containing a milky white concoction into Link’s hand while Colin jumped onto the narrow bed, only narrowly missing Link’s legs.

Needing no instructions, Link lifted the phial to his lips and quaffed all but the very last drop. The cool liquid was soothing and sweet, and within moments had reduced the ache in his throat and ribs. The room seemed to dim and the blankets felt less abrasive against his raw skin. 

Colin showed incredible restraint to last as long as he did before bursting forth with a torrent of questions. Rusl cut him off almost immediately, only barely managing to stifle the flood of energy spilling from the kid.

Link chuckled, pleasantly surprised that his throat didn’t throb in protest.

“No, Rusl, you’d better let him get it all out. He’ll explode if you don’t,” Link said, his voice initially only a whisper but gaining strength with each word.

Perhaps that was a mistake, Link thought with a smile as Colin began to bombard him with question after question, not even pausing for an answer.

“GoddessesLinkWereYouAfraidDidYouKnowThatThreeOthersDidn’tMakeItDidItHurtWhatDoYouRememberWillIBeOkayDoYouHaveCoolPowersNow--”

Rusl finally tackled Colin and pinned his mouth shut. “Got that out of your system now, lad? Let the adults talk now for a minute.”

With that, Rusl turned back to Link. “How are you holding up, champ? That White Honey kicked in yet? It should’ve taken an edge off your hypersensitivity by now.”

Link nodded and licked the last drops from the phial. “How long’s it been? Felt like I was out for ages.”

“Too damn long. Your body developed a strange resistance to the mutagens around the third day, and stopped responding to some of the toxins. We couldn’t wake you up after that, so we had to get a little creative. As far as Ol’ Gaepora can remember, you’re the first one to survive that particular dosage of Skulltula venom…”

Link sighed, knowing there was no stopping the rambling knight. It was little wonder that he and Colin got along so well. Colin eagerly followed his instructor down each rabbit hole, drifting as far as Bokoblin anatomy to acorns with every lesson. This time, however, it had something to do with nightshade, and whether or not the blue variety was pernicious in high enough doses. Link had unwittingly disproved the theory; the heavily distilled concentration had discolored his veins navy for a week but inflicted no lasting harm.

“Honestly, nothing else was evoking a reaction. We had some on hand, so it was worth a shot.” Rusl explained, unaware that Link had long stopped paying attention.

“Rusl,” Link said gently.

The knight paused, an embarrassed grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Sorry. Two weeks. You started the first Trial two weeks ago.”

“Who… who else made it?” Link asked, though he suspected he already knew, had he not dreamt the conversation during the Trial.

Rusl’s smile vanished and Colin suddenly stilled.

“Just you, Link.”

Link felt that he should say something, that he should voice his sorrow somehow, but the words stopped dead on his lips. He had never been fond of Groose, but Cawlin and Strich were tolerable away from their ringleader. Fledge… Link felt most affected by his death, but he was far from surprised. Becoming a knight was his dream, but the poor kid had been allergic to just about everything under the sun. Try as they all might to discourage him, he insisted on taking the Trial.

“I hope that coward freezes out there.”

Colin had probably meant to keep that to himself, but Link’s hearing was still much sharper than a normal Hylian’s. Rusl heard it too, for his reprimand came quickly.

“Colin, the first step of the Trials is to make the choice. Groose made his, and we must respect that.”

Link cocked his head to one sign, visibly confused.

Colin elaborated: “He chickened out, Link. He took one look into that room and sprinted off, out of the Keep and into the wilderness.”

“Colin! Enough of that. Come, Link needs his rest and we’ve chatted for long enough. His Trials aren’t finished yet, and you’d better find instructor Eagus for your afternoon sword training, right? Now, shoo!” 

The old knight prodded Colin towards the door. He turned back to Link once the boy crossed the threshold. “I’ll fetch you for your next trial a little before twilight. I’d stretch your legs before then, and maybe find a bite to eat.”

He pulled a small box from a pocket in his tunic and placed it on the bed.

“And Link… I’m happy that you passed the first Trial. I truly am.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The package contained a tiny lump of chocolate. It was a small gift, but obtaining any such luxury was incredibly difficult as isolated the Keep was from civilization. The chocolate-producing kind, anyway. The scarce few traders who hiked their way up these mountains could demand outrageous prices for bare necessities. They considered Lizalfos and Lichens more dangerous than bilking professional monster slayers, and most of the time were right.

The chocolate would have tasted better if Link’s stomach hadn’t refused to accept the heavenly gift. As he finished heaving out the window, he could only hope to feel better by nightfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand... another! Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one briefly has someone in a position of power think about sex in a context lacking consent. It's not graphic, and has a reason to be in here.
> 
> I don't want to offend anyone, and I don't think I will. Again, it's very slight, but I figured I should still say something.

Across a distance not measured in miles but in dimensional rifts, far from the grey mountains that secluded the knight’s keep from the surrounding world, a royal advisor staged a regicide.

The king’s hands trembled as he set the poisoned goblet down. Already, he could feel the numbness spreading from his fingertips and toes. His eyes, beginning to cloud, rested on his daughter for what could only be the last time. He frowned as his vision blurred, and he could no longer see the blade held to the princess’ throat. The last thing he saw before it all faded away was his daughter’s crimson eyes and the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Only when the king’s body slumped to the side and his crown clattered heavily to the floor did the scimitar move from the princess’ throat. The usurper chuckled to himself and strutted to the throne, stooping dramatically low to pick up the dented crown. He spun it around on one gloved finger, and although none could see under the mask he wore, he smiled.

The Usurper King took a moment to glance around his new acquisitions. The throne room was nice, but a bit dull. A few mounted heads here and there would really bring out the color of the dark blue walls. The people he now commanded, the nobles who so easily allowed his… promotion, flocked around the edges of the room. They were weak and easily controlled. As if to test this thought, the Usurper gestured to the king’s corpse and cleared his throat.

Immediately, four of the nobles began to push and shove for the privilege of removing the deposed monarch.

Zant, the new Twilight King, smiled at their squabbles.

The nobles managed to drag the body out of the room after much debate. The throne now vacant, Zant sat down and turned to the last obstacle in his way.

Midna still sat where Zant had left her. Though her wrists were still bound in front of her, she managed to dry her tears with the long sleeves of her robe. Her gaze drilled into the Usurper, her lips pulled into a snarl.

She had almost spoiled his plans, and he was not about to let her spoil his euphoric mood, either.

He clicked his tongue at her, doing his best to imitate the previous king’s attempts to instill discipline into his daughter when she was still young and malleable. “I’m really disappointed, _daughter_. You could be sitting at the throne yourself, had you only listened to me. And made a few other slight concessions.”

Midna’s mouth contorted into the shapes of obscenities, but no sound escaped her lips. Zant’s magical silence rendered her mute. Even bound and magically drained, Zant felt it prudent to remove her ability to call for aid, just in case a guard still loyal to the old regime overheard a cry for help. Not that there were very many of them still breathing, but it couldn’t hurt to make sure.

“But what am I going to do with your pretty face?” Zant cooed, leaving the throne to walk to his captive. “I wanted you as a wife, not a prisoner. But… if you promise to be nice, maybe it’s not too late.”

Zant openly ogled the princess, something he would never have dared had her father still breathed. His lecherous gaze admired the shapely legs folded beneath her and the heaving rise and fall of her chest, tantalizingly exposed through the slit in her evening robes. Her royal bloodline, kept pure throughout the ancient dynasty, graced her with looks faintly reminiscent of the Hylians from which they all once descended. It was a sign of prestige, a living reminder of the power the Twili once possessed.

But while her exquisite beauty was a nice bonus, it was not the only reason the Usurper desired her as his bride. Zant’s mask hid a face afflicted with the deformity passed down from eons spent in the twilight. While not unattractive, his looks would never be a source of pride for his people. But with her sitting beside him, flesh and blood of the ancients smiling and waving as the people looked on with pride… well, it would certainly make his job as ruler quite a bit easier. Every ounce of legitimacy mattered when overthrowing a monarchy.

Zant took a step closer. He had half a mind to reap the carnal rewards of marriage now and just deal with the wedding later, but he could wait till tomorrow. Or this evening. The new king felt that he had caused enough of a stir for right now.

Still… why couldn’t a king have a little fun? Zant reached out and stroked Midna’s cheek, removing a tear with his thumb. “Now, now… it’s alright,” he murmured.

She steeled her body so that she didn’t flinch at his touch, despite how much her mind protested. She sat still, mournful eyes locked with the Usurper’s. Her only hope was that Zant’s attention would wane before her crawling skin made her cringe away, ruining the opportunity to spite her captor.

Her patience was soon rewarded. The second the king’s gaze moved south, Midna’s jaws clamped around the offending hand. The vile taste of blood assaulted her tongue before the false king could even blink.

Zant recoiled almost instantly, but not quickly enough. His screams reverberated around the palace and, when his fingers were finally free, so did the footsteps of his wild cavorting. This erratic display of agony set the nobles on edge. One of them, either more foolish or more brave than the others, stepped forward and offered up the hem of his robe as an improvised bandage. Zant seemed to neither hear nor care; a wildly flailing kick sent the noble sprawling against the wall.

“You stole my finger!” Zant screamed. “Give it back! Give it back! Give it!”

Midna happily obliged. The princess retched in a way that would have not been appropriate for royalty in any other situation, depositing not only two digits of Zant’s little finger on the floor, but her breakfast as well.

Zant, still in the throes of a wild tantrum, pointed to a noble with his good hand. “What are you waiting for? Do something!”

The noble blanched, but dutifully retrieved the missing finger. With some difficulty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Missing a finger and fuming, Zant slouched on his throne. The nobles stood in silence as they had for the last hour, their occasional cough the only reminder to the Usurper that they still existed. His mind was elsewhere, concocting the perfect punishment for the rebellious princess still kneeling before him.

Time was on his side. He could decide what to do with her once he had made a deal with the delegation from Gerudo, set to arrive shortly.

 _If all I trade for the throne of my people is half a finger, then it will have been worth it_ , he thought.

Zant gave instructions to some guards to keep an eye on the princess, then left to prepare for his guests. 

Midna watched him leave. He wasn’t the only one with a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's Midna! She doesn't take anyone's shit.
> 
> I wanted this to be a tad bit darker than Midna's story in the videogames, without diving off the deep end. How did I do? Especially for this chapter, I'd love to hear what you guys think.


	5. Chapter 5

“Tell me… do you ever feel a strange sadness when dusk falls? They say it’s the only time when our world intersects with theirs…”

Link shivered from the cold and quite possibly the remnants of the toxins still in his system. The walk to the Keep’s ruined temple wasn’t long, but winter was starting to show its icy fangs by invading early the retreating autumn. He was grateful for Rusl’s company, even if he doubted that he was feeling lonely just because some specters in another world had regrets.

The pair arrived at the temple just as the sun dipped below the horizon. A broken steeple lay half-buried in the dirt, raising doubts about the condition of the rest of the building. After a pause taken to admire the rich purple sky, the mentor and trainee stepped through a surprisingly intact doorway.

Instructor Eagus and master Gaepora were already inside, fiddling with a series of metal staves sticking up from the dais. Not a word was spoken as Rusl moved to help with the rods, fidgeting with the crystal mounted on top.

Link wasn’t certain what he should be doing. He had no clue how to attune the focal crystals, so he decided to just take a seat in one of the decaying benches. By the time he found one that would hold his weight, however, the others had finished their preparations. Instructor Eagus beckoned him to the dais. 

As Link approached the altar, he noticed intricate designs inscribed on the stone floor. The three remaining walls had apparently provided enough protection from the elements to preserve the floor’s carvings, because the initiate could easily discern the symbols for the three goddesses. Before each symbol stood a rod, the mounts for the crystals.

The altar itself was every bit as ornate as the floor upon which it rested. The same swirling patterns that decorated the floor extended upwards to the rectangular slab of stone. It was not a tall structure, the initiate noticed; it hardly surpassed the cuffs of his boots. Three candles burned on its smooth rectangular surface, each with a gemstone embedded in the lazily dripping tallow. The ruby, emerald, and sapphire stood in obvious reference to the goddesses.

A hand on his back--Eagus’--pushed Link to his knees.

“Time is of the essence, boy. Hurry up, make like you’re praying.”

Link didn’t think much of the goddesses, but something in Eagus’ voice informed him that true religious fervor wasn’t necessary. Nonetheless, he obediently pressed his hands together and bowed his head. The Trials were as much a ceremony as any cultish ritual, and ancient customs were to be observed, at least while master Gaepora was in charge.

And despite his age, the old master was very much in charge. Through half-closed eyelids Link saw him procure a small phial from the depths of his robe and hold it above his head with both hands. Even Link’s enhanced hearing couldn’t make out what the elder said next, but Link suspected that it wasn’t Hylian. Master Gaepora brought the drink to the altar, placed it in front of Link, and commanded him to drink.

Link uncorked the bottle with his mouth and downed the philter in a single gulp. It was foolish, he thought in hindsight, to hope that all such potions would taste as sweet as the White Honey had. The black liquid was bitter and vile beyond anything Link had ever experienced.

Regardless, once his eyes stopped watering, Link resumed a position of piety. Whatever he just consumed was potent; a wave of exhaustion washed over Link, and he struggled to maintain his balance.

Words from a foreign tongue filled Link’s ears. At first, master Gaepora chanted alone, but after what could have been the first verse, Rusl and Eagus joined in as well. After a while, the words seemed to blur together, making a lullaby as soothing as any he had ever heard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The heavens released a flood upon the mountain. Rain fell in sheets, fat droplets tearing leaves off trees in their desperate pursuit to reach the thirsting earth. Link didn’t seem to mind as he thundered through the underbrush. These woods seemed familiar, yet Link couldn’t discern his location or bearings. It seemed important, however, that he got wherever he was going.

Through a clearing in the woods, Link could see the moon’s silver crescent and the Keep hugging the side of the mountain. The tower’s broken spire seemed oddly distant. Link failed to come up with any explanation for how he had arrived in the forest, but that didn’t matter at the moment. The initiate felt a peculiar desire rise in his chest, a powerful itch that demanded immediate attention. He sat down on the soaked soil and raised his head to the heavens. 

Link howled at the moon.

The bliss that followed couldn’t be described in words--at least, not any words Link was familiar with. It just felt right.

Once it was over, Link knew he didn’t have time to sit around and roll in the damp earth. He resumed his sprint, and Link felt with a fair degree of certainty that he was heading back in the direction of the Keep. The path was one he had traveled many times before coming back from one of Rusl’s or Eagus’ field training exercises.

Still, he had never traveled the path quite like this. His white paws carried him faster than his feet ever had, and he felt like he had a much more close and personal relationship with every stone and tree root that zoomed underneath him.

Link came to a fork in the trail. The Keep was to the right, the more frequented of the two paths. Despite this, Link felt compelled to take the left branch, and so he did. His instincts proved right about the moon, after all.

Link briefly wondered if he was even strong enough to fight his animalistic instincts, but he decided against testing this theory. The left path was fine. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know where it would take him; he’d learn soon enough. 

Frigid air blew against the mountain, momentarily leveling the torrent of rain horizontal, against Link. Luckily, his grey coat kept him warm, the freezing droplets flying from his fur as he dashed through the forest.

Another fork divided the trail. Right this time, followed by a hairpin turn so sharp that it nearly dislodged Link from the side of the mountain. The path was barely distinguishable from the rest of the woods. Link relied on smell as much as sight to navigate, but what odor was he following? Something sweet. The scent tickled his snout.

Link vaulted over a tree root and skidded to a stop at the mouth of a cave. The sun was just starting to rise behind him, illuminating something shiny from inside the cave. Link took a cautious step forward, but that was all he could manage before everything faded to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A slow drip gradually brought Link to consciousness. A filthy puddle in front of his face rippled as droplet after droplet complied with gravity’s demands.

Link’s gaze drifted across the puddle to a metal grate, then the walls that encased it. It was dark, but that wasn’t much of a problem for Link anymore. Still, he didn’t require much light to figure out where he was. Link found himself in a prison.

The Keep’s dungeons were the only Link had ever known, even though they were decrepit and suitable only for housing monsters--dead or alive--for further study. Neither Link nor any of the other trainees had ever served time there: the instructors, especially Eagus, instead preferred to take discipline into their own hands as the need arose.

Link wasn’t an expert on jail cells, but what else could four walls, a metal gate, and a chain connecting his ankle to the wall be?

After examining the cell, Link took stock of his personal situation. He happily noted a distinct lack of fur and that his thumbs were once again opposable.

Link managed to stand up with assistance from the wall. The dark blue bricks composing the cell felt smooth and cool to the touch, but were unlike anything he had ever encountered, or even heard of. Tales of fantastic Gerudo architecture featuring sandstone and adobe reached even the most remote pockets of the world, but this material was as remarkable as it was foreign to the captive initiate.

The chain connecting Link’s anklet to the wall clattered as he approached the gate of the cell. Link knew his metals more than his construction materials, thanks to Eagus’ lessons on swordsmithing, but the lustrous black metal that blocked the path before him was just as foreign as the walls.

Just before Link reached the door, the chain pulled taunt. Link kicked out in frustration, fully expecting the chain to fight him, but to his surprise, the anklet released his leg. Had nobody bothered to lock it?

Link tried the gate. It too relented with minimal persuasion, yielding to him at the merest touch. Link rejected a dozen implausible theories for why anyone would throw a prisoner into a jail cell and not bother to lock the door or even the binding chains before deciding that his distinct memories of being a wolf trumped all rationality. A lucky break shouldn’t be scrutinized too heavily.

Not surprisingly, the hallway outside the cell was composed of the same mysterious bricks as the cell itself. As he emerged from his cell, a green rune bathed Link with a viridescent light, and as he looked around, he noticed several more runes at even intervals down the hall. These light sources emitted no detectable heat and possessed no scent distinguishable from the rest of the dungeon. Nonetheless, a faint haze floated around them, slightly impairing the trainee’s vision. 

The corridor Link found himself standing in stretched a great distance farther than he had anticipated. Squinting into the green glow, the initiate could just barely make out the end ahead of him. Escape wasn’t going to be found back in the jail cell or the dead end behind him; his only option was forward.

An indiscernible amount of time passed as Link proceeded down the hall. After what could have been either a few short minutes or several hours, he arrived at an intersection. The way forward branched right and left, forming a ‘T’. He peered down the left hallway, then the right. They were, as far as Link could tell, identical. Each featured row after row of empty cells and the same runes casting the same virid light. Even the air tasted the same: it was no less stale a few feet into the left hallway than it was the right.

He wasn’t discouraged. Link smiled, waiting for some primal instinct to kick in just like it had in the woods earlier. He stood, tense, waiting for his gut to nudge him down either way.

Besides a faint grumble, his stomach was silent. His smile vanished.

Indecision melted into frustration. He’d either have to guess or choose an empty cell and wait for whoever put him in here to come back. If they ever came back.

Link rested for another minute, hoping his gut would guide him beyond reminding him just how long it had been since he last ate. When it didn’t, he started down the left path, already wondering if he was only going to make himself more lost.

Link hadn’t even made it past the first cell when he froze, his sensitive ears picking up laughter from the passage behind him.

Although Rusl would probably not approve following unknown laughter in a mysterious dungeon, Link felt that he had no choice. Above all else, he wanted answers. If he found his gaoler, he could explain that his captivity was some kind of mistake. Link didn’t remember any criminal activity, but his memory wasn’t exactly on good terms with him at the moment. His whole head felt fuzzy, and the dungeon’s green miasma wasn’t helping his developing headache. Link would give anything to replace those wretched runes with some actual sunlight.

Link spun around and jogged the short distance back the way he came, then down the right hallway.

The laughter persisted for longer than Link was comfortable with. After a minute, Link’s confidence had dimmed considerably. The cackling crescendoed into a roar, and Link’s pace slowed to a crawl. He could make out a corner in the hallway ahead, and slowly inched forward. 

When the laughter abruptly stopped, Link froze, breath caught in his throat. He almost lost his balance and made a desperate grab for a cell’s bars. His fingers wrapped around the cold metal just in time to prevent him from colliding with the floor.

Link thought his rapidly beating heart was deafening, but then he heard the shriek.

A woman’s voice echoed down the corridor, distress pushing the pitch to a shrill soprano.

“What… what did you do to me? Change me back!”

More laughter reverberated through the prison as Link inched closer to the edge. The corner was less than a meter away when the laughter cut off for a second time, but Link wasn’t caught off guard this time.

“My dear princess, I simply made your appearance match your behavior. A fitting punishment, don’t you think, imp? Now, come on. You’re coming with me. I certainly wouldn’t want you getting into any trouble while I was away.”

The laughter was subdued this time, more of a throaty chuckle. It accompanied footsteps, but Link couldn’t tell which direction they were heading. Mustering all the courage he could find, Link steeled his nerves to sneak a peek. 

He jumped around the corner, suddenly face to face with a fanged pout and two large red eyes. Surprise did not have time to register on either of their faces before Link’s vision once again faded to black.


	6. Chapter 6

Drip. Drip.

The remains of a crumbling ceiling directed a faint trickle of rainwater down a slanting rafter and onto Link’s neck, causing him to wake. He slowly pried his face off the altar and looked around.

The morning light gave the temple a more benevolent appearance than the dusk had. Without the long shadows cast by the sun’s dying light, the green moss covering the grey stone bricks seemed warm and fuzzy, not jagged and sinister. The light drizzle of rain leaking through the intact half of the ceiling made everything sparkle.

Of the three instructors from the beginning of the Trial, only Rusl remained in the ruined temple. The old knight rested against the wall, head down in slumber. He had wisely picked a spot under a relatively solid section of roofing.

Link walked over to the resting knight. Still groggy from the Trial, Link thought to let the old man lie and perhaps nod off as well. On his approach, however, Rusl’s head shot up and his eyes found Link’s.

“I wasn’t asleep. Just meditating,” the knight said, but Link could’ve sworn that meditating didn’t usually involve snoring.

Link was a little miffed that he didn’t get his extra rest, but when Rus wrapped his arms around him, he didn’t mind so much any more. The embrace was short and a bit awkward. It was definitely a rare occurrence: Rusl didn’t frequently display affection. Of course, that didn’t mean it was unwelcome.

After separating, Rusl stood up and adjusted the mail under his tunic. “Come on, Link. Let’s get you cleaned up and get some food in you.”

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Link was pleased, although not surprised, to find Colin waiting for him in the Great Hall even though breakfast had apparently ended some time ago. The boy raced up to Link and, standing on a nearby bench, stared him straight in the eyes. After a few seconds of intense scrutiny, Colin dashed back to the table and pulled a plate of bacon and biscuits from the seat beside him. Link only then realized how hungry he was.

“Cool eyes, Link. I think I’ll miss your blue ones, though. And you really need to shave.” 

The kid wasn’t yet bursting with excitement, but he also hadn’t yet given Link his plate of food. When Link made a grab for it, his hand came up short; Colin yanked the plate back just enough to keep it out of Link’s reach. With his superior reflexes, Link could have snatched the plate out from the kid’s grasp, but he decided to play along.

“Alright, Colin. I’ll bite. What’s the catch?”

The trainee’s eyes twinkled, his devious plan working even better than he had imagined. Colin scratched his chin in a mock-contemplative manner, making Link regret not seizing his meal when he had the chance.

Rusl laughed. His breakfast was already accounted for, and primarily consisted of the contents of a small metal flask retrieved from one of the pockets on his belt.

Finally, Colin stated his price. “You gotta show me some magic. Rusl said you’d get some by now, so stop holding out on me! Make… make that chair explode!”

Link turned to Rusl. The knight shrugged. 

“That isn’t anyone’s favorite chair, last I checked.”

When Link’s only response was another puzzled look, Rusl put down his flask and rubbed his hands together. 

“It’s not easy to explain how these signs work… it’s more of a self-discovery kind of thing. Some knights can do all sorts of crazy magicks with their hands, and others can barely move a feather with a gust of conjured air.”

Rusl held out his hand in a fist. His thumb traced a semicircular arc in the air, then his pointer and middle finger flew upright. Nobody’s favorite chair, the chair next to it, and the table they both sat around leapt off the ground and smashed into the wall behind them. A nearby torch flickered out.

“Don’t worry if you can’t make any sparks fly your first time. You’ll have plenty of time for practice during your third Trial.”

Link was aware that Colin had nudged the plate back within arm’s reach, apparently content enough with Rusl’s display.

Link took a step forward. The bacon momentarily forgotten, the initiate raised his arm like he had seen his mentor do only moments before. His hand wasn’t in a fist, however. Link didn’t want to summon a burst of air.

He wanted fire.

Fingers spread, Link closed his eyes and imagined the chair bursting into flames. The sounds of a roaring fire filled Link’s ears, and the smell of charred wood filled his nose. Link brought his middle finger and thumb together, and snapped.

From deep within Earth’s molten core, something noticed Link’s desire. It responded, sending more than enough power to do the job. Link felt a burning within his veins, and he knew he had succeeded. He opened his eyes…

...and saw that the chair was no different from when he had closed them.

Colin burst into applause, and Rusl clapped Link on his back.

“It’s not everyday a knight gets it on his first try. Well done, Link!”

Link whipped around, about to snarl a sarcastic comment of his own in response, until he realized that they were being sincere. The torch that Rusl had put out with his sign was lit once more, burning fiercely and brightly.

Colin almost spilled bacon off the plate as he eagerly pressed Link’s breakfast into his hands.

“That was amazing, Link! I heard that fire magicks were the toughest of the lot! And dangerous, too!”

Rusl nodded, wiping a crumb off his face. Link noticed that one of his biscuits had mysteriously vanished.

Colin wasn’t finished, visibly more excited after having seen two different displays of magic. “So, how was the Trial, Link? Did it hurt? Got any other cool magic tricks?”

Link was thankful that Rusl attempted to appease the energetic trainee, affording him some time to wolf down the remaining biscuits.

“This one wasn’t quite as exciting, Colin,” the instructor explained. “After drinking the Dreamstealer tonic, Link fell into a catatonic state, a deep dreamless slumber. A bit of magic later, Link woke up. And that’s all.”

Link swallowed and reached for his mentor’s canteen to wash the biscuits down, but Rusl’s bemused expression told Link that the flask contained something a bit stronger than milk.

“But I did dream, Rusl. Something about a wolf and a dungeon, I think.”

Rusl shook his head. “Not a chance. You ingested a strong enough dose to even make a Hinox drowsy. You shouldn’t have any dreams for a week, maybe even longer than that. Maybe it was a daydream, or memories of a dream long ago.”

Link opened his mouth to protest, but Rusl shifted to his pedantic tone.

“They say that knights of old underwent the second Trial without the Dreamstealer tonic, but the magically augmented dreams often proved maddening. Initiates would emerge from the Trial unable to distinguish dream from reality. It’s why we use the tonic.”

Although the exact details faded with the morning mist, Link was sure that he had dreamt something. He knew better than to argue, though, and decided to change the subject.

“So, when’s the next Trial?” He asked, hoping he would get at least a few day’s rest in a real bed before sleeping outdoors for a week.

No luck. “According to tradition… at dawn. Of course, I might be able to convince master Gaepora to push it back a day or two if you wanted.”

Link seriously doubted Rusl’s ability to change the elder instructor’s mind on matters of tradition. He meekly nodded, accepting tradition, and dragged his weary body off to get ready for his final Trial.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Stooped over a small pond, Link admired his handiwork. Satisfied, he wiped his razor clean and rubbed a hand over his chin for good measure.

Removing the patchy beard helped, but Link still felt like the reflection in the water belonged to a stranger. His eyes were yellow and slitted like Pipit’s and his instructors’. Master Gaepora’s eyes were too cloudy now to tell, but Link imagined that fifty years ago, they would have resembled his, too.

Prior to today, Link had spent very little time looking at himself, but assuming he passed his final Trial, he would soon be around people. Real people, most likely the kind that had never heard of the knights errant but were in desperate need of their services. Real people, who treated foreigners with suspicion and would take one look at Link’s golden eyes and the black slit pupils and mutter prayers of protection.

That was how Rusl had described it, anyway. Link’s only experiences with people outside the keep were in the small villages near the mountain’s foothills and the occasional traveling merchant. Both groups were at least familiar with the knights, and although far from friendly, didn’t display overt animosity.

Link recalled his first time allowed into one of the foothill villages without an instructor acting as a chaperone. The older trainees had been allowed the weekend off while instructors Eagus and Rusl rode to the Gerudo empire to arrange a shipment of meteorite steel for swordsmithing.

Pipit, the eldest of the group, announced that he would be in charge--which would turn out to be a colossal mistake. Link was grateful that Colin hadn’t been allowed to tag along; the trouble the boys got into would likely have been too much for the child. It caused Link no small discomfort remembering that awful night.

The day spent trekking down the mountain went without any hiccups. Thanks to Mido’s affinity for pathfinding, the group made it to the village just as the sun began its descent below the horizon. Pipit decided that the group would pay a visit to the tavern and, demonstrating how “townies” did it, bought everyone a round to drink. Link hadn’t protested when Groose, after finishing his own drink, snatched his mug and downed it in one gulp. Link ordered a glass of milk as a (much superior) replacement.

Meanwhile, Fledge had been bullied into a drinking contest by some of the locals, and was quickly drinking his way towards becoming comatose, despite Link’s protests. Cawlin, also considerably less than sober, confessed his love to a barmaid who he had first laid eyes on moments before. It took both Link and Pipit to drag him off of her. Link was happy that he wasn’t the one to have to explain consent to Cawlin.

At about the time that Fledge finally lost consciousness, Groose smashed his mug into another patron’s face over some petty squabble and Mido lost his last rupee playing cards. The tavern erupted into a chaos composed of cheers, yelps of pain, and loudest of all, Mido’s accusations of cheating. Link recalled splinters flying everywhere as Groose turned a stool into a formidable weapon. Of course, Pipit’s shrill requests for order were ignored.

Link managed to dash over to Fledge and drag him out of the tavern while only collecting a few bruises between the two of them. Mido emerged next, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and an unexplained clinking of rupees following his every step as he sauntered over to Link and Fledge. Strich had left the building before the pandemonium had even begun: he had spotted an insect and chased it for an hour, only just returning to show everyone. Pipit staggered through the door moments later, but hastily reentered the fray when he realized that Cawlin wasn’t behind him. Three heavy arms threw Groose out of the tavern. The boy’s hair was lilting to one side and blood dripped from his chin, but he was smiling nonetheless.

“Shoulda seen the other guys,” was all he said.

None of them were smiling, however, when the angry barkeeper caught up to them. The damages and the tab drained the boys of all their rupees, even Mido’s ill-gotten stash.

Without rupees to pay for rooms, the boys agreed to get a headstart on the journey back to the Keep. Half-carrying each other slowed them to a snail’s pace and taking turns making sure that Fledge was still breathing demanded frequent stops. The boys eventually arrived to three furious instructors several hours after they had been instructed to return.

That was that world that Link would be thrust into in a week’s time, but with more monsters and fewer friends.

The sun was beginning to set as Link looked back at his reflection one more time. A sigh escaped his lips as he admitted to himself that, spirit world or not, dusk was indeed a melancholy time.

The walk back to his room wasn’t long. The sun’s last rays peeked over the side of the mountain as Link sat on his bed. He wasn’t tired yet, although he knew he would need as much sleep as he could get.

After a few minutes of distracted, fruitless meditation, Link got up from his bed to retrieve his ocarina. He wondered if his neighbors in the tower would mind his playing before recalling the results of the first Trial.

Silently, Link dedicated his lullaby to them, closed his eyes, and began playing.


	7. Chapter 7

“Alright boy, come on. Get over here. We’ve got some talking to do, and the sun will be up any moment.”

Link only stifled a yawn in response. Why couldn’t any of these Trials start at a reasonable time?

“Master Gaepora said I was to say a prayer over you, but I’m going to not and let’s just say I did, alright?” The portly instructor scratched his chin, checking another talking point off his mental checklist.

A gust of wind sliced through Link’s grey tunic, his shield of wool failing to protect him from the chill. The initiate was eager to get moving and get warm.

“Oh, right. Of course, you can’t go to any of the towns. Can’t stay here. Gotta test to see if those mutations and magics you got are going to work, right?”

Link nodded, adjusting the rucksack and scabbard on his back. His hopes for an early departure were further delayed as instructor Eagus leaned in close.

“There’s one more wrinkle, boy. A secret, so don’t go telling none of the kids, alright? Eastern foothills of this mountain, there’s a fountain. Toss a couple rupees in. Don’t come back till you have. We’ll know if you do.”

With that, Eagus straightened up and stepped back, slapping Link’s shoulder with enough force to send him stumbling several feet forward.

Link’s irritated glance towards the instructor warranted a deep belly laugh.

“Good luck, boy!” Eagus called.

Link almost missed the tenebrous form that detached itself from the shadow of the Great Hall. It was Rusl.

“One week,” he called. “Don’t lose track of the days.”

Colin, not to be outdone, popped out from behind the pile of rubble he had apparently been using as a hiding spot. Link acted surprised, although he heard the kid’s breathing and he was fairly certain that Rusl and Eagus could as well.

“Don’t get lost, Link! Don’t kill all the monsters, I wanna fight some too when I do my Trials!”

Link smiled. It was as warm a send-off as any he could have imagined. The first rays of dawn peeked over the treetops as Link finally left the Keep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day brought warmth, but that was hardly an issue anymore as Link hiked through the dense underbrush. A thin bead of sweat began to form on his brow as he hacked his way to where he figured the spring would be.

Link couldn’t help but ponder over Eagus’ last instructions. Money wasn’t just hiding in the grass or under stones; without access to the towns, he’d be out of luck if his fifteen rupees weren’t enough.

A fallen log made for a nice spot to sit and rest a spell. All around him, the forest was teeming with life. Overhead, birds chattered away in the skies and the boughs of mighty trees. Insects buzzed around Link’s ears, though the youth lacked the energy to swat them away. A chipmunk darted from hole to hole, appearing to inspect each one before moving on to the next.

Link stifled a yawn. His eyelids started to feel heavy. He slung his backpack to the side and rested his scabbard across his lap.

 _A nap wouldn’t hurt,_ Link thought sleepily. _But only for a while…_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Link’s rest came to an abrupt stop at the sound of a twig snapping underfoot.

Night had fallen. Besides the gentle swaying of the trees in the breeze, the forest was perfectly still. Even the insects decided they had better things to do than buzz right now.

In an instant, Link was on his feet with his sword drawn. The blade was one of instructor Eagus’ creations, simple steel for practice around the keep. Link found that he preferred his blades slightly shorter than Eagus’ usual meter, and the full two-handed hilt to be more cumbersome than helpful, but it would have to do.

The bushes to his right rustled as something of comparable size brushed past them. This attack pattern was common among predators. Link’s hopes for a false alarm dissipated; whatever was out there was dangerous.

Link resisted the urge to spin around, instead following the disturbance with his eyes. A dark shape moved under the cover of darkness.

Pages from various bestiaries raced through Link’s mind, but the initiate couldn’t seem to concentrate on any details. All the instruction he had ever heard from Rusl or Eagus on engaging an unknown foe echoed through Link’s ears, but he couldn’t make out a single word.

The rustling stopped behind Link. He tightened the grip on his sword. His breathing, already slowed as a product of the mutations, trickled to a halt.

The bushes exploded. It lunged.

Link dodged to the side, spinning his blade around in a wide, blind arc hoping to catch his hunter in the mouth or perhaps an unguarded flank.

The sword connected with a sickening crunch, but instead of sinking deep into the creature’s flesh, it struck something harder than steel. Pain flared in Link’s wrist, causing his grip to weaken. Link’s stomach dropped in horror as he saw his weapon sail from his hand and disappear into the underbrush.

The monster had a carapace.

The recoil from the blow caused Link to stagger, but his enemy wasn’t expecting the counter-attack, either. This afforded Link just enough time to face his opponent before it lunged again.

Damn it! Link thought. Why did it always have to be spiders?

Link rolled to the side in the nick of time as the arachas’ tusk gored the air where he stood only a moment before. Ignoring the sting of the new scrape on his arm, Link frantically scanned the forest floor for his dropped weapon, but even with his enhanced eyesight, there was too much forest and not enough time.

The arachas charged again, scuttling with a speed far beyond what Link was expecting for the six-legs it used for locomotion. His mistimed dodge enabled the spider to spear his side.

The chainmail absorbed most of the blow, but the pain still forced Link’s legs to buckle. He landed from the dodge in a heap on the ground. He could feel the warm trickle of blood leaving his body and hoped that the spider hadn’t pierced anything important.

At least--nope. There’s the sting of venom. Damn it all to hell!

The oversized arthropod clicked its mandibles together, chattering triumphantly. It knew it had won.

Link managed to get to his knees, but failed beyond that. A growl escaped his lips. _Here lies Link,_ he thought, _killed because he couldn’t get a good night’s sleep._

The arachas leveled its tusks towards Link’s chest and charged, closing the distance between them in the bat of one of its many eyes.

All Link had time to do was weakly hold a hand in front of him.

He closed his eyes, suddenly concerned with the oddly familiar wrenching sensation developing in his gut. He gasped as a sudden chill enveloped him. Every drop of blood in his body felt as though it had been replaced by ice.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see the last of the ice crystals dissipate into nothingness. The arachas stumbled back, oozing green ichor from its eyes.

The small victory gave Link a second wind. He staggered to his feet, holding his bleeding stomach in one hand and with his other outstretched.

The arachas got to its feet and gnashed its mandibles together angrily, but Link wasn’t going to let it take another step. He snapped his fingers, calling forth a gout of flames. The fire caught the monstrous spider square in the face, eliciting a dreadful screech.

The flames kept coming.

The arachas already wore a cloak of fire, yet the flames kept coming. Link was spent, although a voice somewhere deep within him insisted otherwise, that the all-consuming fire never had to stop. The air tasted of smoke and burning flesh. Link realized that he couldn’t tell whose.

A sharp stab of pain from his wounded stomach shattered Link’s concentration, pulling him from his trance and quelling the stream of fire. The arachas and the surrounding shrubbery still burned, however, shedding light in all directions. Link saw a glint of metal reflect the improvised bonfire’s illumination.

On shaky legs, Link scrambled for the sword. He paid the arachas no heed, hoping it was too preoccupied dousing the fire on its highly flammable abdomen to notice that Link had his back turned. His hand closed around the hilt just as the spider slammed its bloated body against the ground, smothering the last of the flames.

It, too, had ignored its opponent.

Link staggered behind the spider’s armored front carapace, looking for an opening at the arachas’ singed, vulnerable backside.

Link thrust his sword clean through the monster’s abdomen. Blood spurted from both of the spider’s new holes.

The arachas’ legs flailed out, nearly skewering Link a second time. After a moment spent experiencing life’s spasmodic finale, it finally crashed to the ground, inert.

It took both hands to pull his sword from the spider’s gut. Link, wanting to be certain that the monstrosity was truly dead, feebly plunged the blade back into the belly of the beast. It didn’t so much as flinch.

Link sighed and once again fell to his knees.

He had to move. He had to doctor his wounds. He had to ensure another monster wouldn’t smell the smoldering carcass and come looking for free dinner.

But all Link could do was watch the world, once more, fade to black.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys! I appreciate the feedback I've gathered thus far, and I'm always receptive for more!  
> I figured that I would go ahead and post another chapter or two before school starts for me. I can't promise such frequent updates during the semester, of course, but I'll do my best.

Link’s patience for these trials was running thin. He was tired of constantly being unconscious and waking up in unfamiliar locations.

Like now. Why did the universe conspire to keep Link from sleep? Why was he being literally dragged through the forest?

 _Wait. Why_ am _I being dragged through the forest?_

A strong arm across his back supported Link upright. His feet limply scraped the ground, catching on a particularly inconsiderate tree root and nearly sending both him and his mysterious companion tumbling to the dirt.

Link’s head rolled to the side, offering him a glimpse of his helper.

 _Oh great,_ Link thought. _Another dream._

Link decided that at least he would get some proper sleep, and allowed himself to nod off once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he awoke the second time, Link was no longer being carried. He was, however, sitting across a fire from Groose on the sandy banks of a small stream.

Link blinked hard and rubbed his eyes. The Groose-shaped apparition didn’t flicker, and the pain in Link’s side informed him that he wasn’t dreaming.

Groose didn’t notice that Link had stirred, his attention spent entirely on the fishing hook and line in front of him. His hand twitched and the barb sunk into his thumb. He cursed as the knot he was attempting to tie with his thick fingers came undone, and stuck the pad of his thumb in his mouth. He glanced over from his work to Link, his frown transforming into a grin when he saw that he was conscious.

“Hey, nice eyes, puss-peepers. Miss me?”

Link furrowed his brow. “Groose… what? What are you doing here?”

“What do you think? Saving your sorry ass from bleeding out.”

Groose pushed a hand through his red hair, which Link noticed was more disheveled than he’d ever seen it in Keep. In fact, the same could be said for the rest of the runaway.

Finding someone to torment put Groose in a better mood than his appearance suggested. He _tsked_ through his teeth and, with slow mock-disappointment, shook his head.

“Didn’t Rusl teach you manners, Link? Or did you forget those, too, when you forgot how to fight?”

Link scowled, hopefully looking more threatening than he felt. His injured flank burned like it was on fire.

“Thanks. Now, tell me what happened.”

Groose leered at Link. “You’re very welcome, but I’m a much better storyteller after I’ve had breakfast, so that’ll have to wait.”

While Groose occupied himself with his line and lure again, Link crawled over to the stream. He cupped his hands to drink when he saw a dark shape cut through the water.

It was a Hyrule Bass, also known as breakfast.

Link froze, waiting for the fish to swim closer to the bank. It drifted closer and closer, until, with a flash of scales, the fish turned away. 

Link’s hand darted forward. The cool water sent a shiver down his spine, but his overwhelming hunger commanded him to ignore it.

The bass made a noble attempt to escape, but the hand that ensnared it was like a vice. Link wrested the fish from the water and slapped its head against a rock, ending its struggle.

Groose swore again, the sudden commotion causing a bubble of blood to well from yet another prick on his thumb.

“Dammit Link, what did you do that--”

Link interrupted him by tossing the fish in his lap as he crawled back to the fire.

“Breakfast. Now, talk.”

If Groose was impressed, he didn’t show it. He shrugged, and after pulling out a knife and getting to work on the scales, began his story.

“After I left, I went to one of the foothill villages. I fled the keep with a sword, so the locals assumed I was a knight.”

After scaling the fish, Groose speared it and held it over the fire.

“I wasn’t going to tell them otherwise. They said they had a bounty put out for some monster, so I took it. Demanded they pay upfront, too. Had no intention of actually fighting the thing, so I stayed in the village, getting free food, drinks, and a place to stay while I ‘scouted out the monster’ every other evening or so.”

Groose was almost too engrossed with the story to notice that the fish was burning. He hastily turned it over, then continued.

“I kept up the act for two weeks. Eventually the villagers got smart, though. I tried to leave while the going was good, but one of the village ladies snitched on me. They took back the bounty and made me pay for the tab with just about everything I had.”

The pain in Link’s side made him impatient, and while he wanted to tell Groose that he deserved worse, he thought better of antagonizing him. He tried a more gentle approach.

“I asked why you dragged me through the forest, not for your life story.”

Groose huffed. “Getting there, getting there. That monster, the arachas or whatever, that’s what the villagers had a bounty for. I had been camping out in the woods nearby, saw some fire, heard some clattering and screaming, and went to go check it out. There you were, and the body of the beast I was supposed to slay. So I hauled it back to the village, everyone’s happy, I get my bounty back, and all’s well.”

“Why come back for me?”

Groose glared at the initiate across the fire. “I still hate your guts, puss-peepers. Don’t get me wrong, I thought about not coming back, but I don’t like keeping debts. Even to dead or dying dumbasses like you. Next time I find you lying in the dirt, I’m just leaving you there, you hear me?”

Link smirked despite the pain in his side. “Wouldn’t want it any other way, Groosie.”

The runaway stood up, taking the roasted fish and kicking some sand over the fire.

“So long, loser. And thanks for the fish,” Groose said, taking a bite.

“Till I have the misfortune of meeting you again, charlatan.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a bit of effort, Link managed to revive the fire. Catching another fish took a bit more work. Breakfast was exhausting, but having a bit of food in his belly gave Link a hint of optimism. He was not looking forward to treating his wounds, however.

The scrape on his arm and the various other cuts and bruises along the rest of his body were insignificant compared to the hole in his stomach. Link took a few shallow breaths in preparation for the pain to come. Slowly, he stripped off his tunic and then the mail underneath. Every time the cloth or metal rings rubbed against the wound, Link would wince and have to pause for a second, lest the pain overwhelm him.

Finally, after removing the thick wool shirt he wore under it all, he could examine the wound. It wasn’t pretty.

Link was grateful that Groose had smeared a paste of herbs into the wound from the hole in his garments. The application was imprecise and messy, but the Hyrule Herb had certainly done its job. While the green taint of poison still ringed the long gash, it hadn’t spread through his body and killed him while he slept.

Link could’ve sworn that Groose had either slept through or somehow skipped every one of Rusl’s lessons on plants and potions, but apparently he knew more than he let on.

The main problem, Link realized, was that the wound wouldn’t close on its own and that he’d have to suture it somehow. He glanced over at the fishing line and hook that Groose had left behind, the solution to his problem. It wasn’t going to be fun, and neither would cleaning the wound, but it would certainly be better than dying from a slowly leaking hole in his gut.

Link shucked off his boots, held his breath, and waded into the stream. The water, likely runoff from melting ice high in the mountaintop, chilled him to the bone.

The stream turned out to be rather shallow, however. Link barely managed to submerge his knees in the stream’s deepest point, and he wasn’t keen on lying down and getting more of his body wet than necessary in the freezing water. He would have to try his luck down the river.

The stream emptied out into a pond in the middle of a clearing. Flowers of colors Link had never seen before lined the banks, and a pair of deer startled and dashed into the woods on Link’s approach. A pink fairy fluttered past on butterfly wings, turning an embarrassed shade of red when it saw Link’s exposed chest. It turned and retreated out of reach.

Link’s shivering was too intense for him to even have a chance at catching the rare creature. “Healers of the forest” was a fitting epithet for the shy fairies that travelers sometimes saw on their journeys to the less-populated ends of the continent, on account of their willingness to heal their captor in exchange for freedom.

At least the water was getting deeper, Link thought. He took another step but jumped back when something sharp pierced his foot. Link looked down and saw a green rupee peeking out of the dirt.

Link stared, perplex, at the dull gemstone before realizing what he had found. He must be standing in the spring instructor Eagus had described!

The cold momentarily forgotten in a burst of excitement, Link searched the pocket of his trousers for his rupees. Then he searched the other pocket. 

The rupees were nowhere to be found.

Had he dropped them earlier? Link glanced over his shoulder, but his eyes found no telltale glimmer in the water back the way he came. They were certainly there yesterday; he had checked…

_Groose._

The realization hit harder than one of that bastard’s punches.

Link thrust a fist into the spring, angrily sending a spray of water skybound. He shivered, as much from the temperature as the rage building inside his chest.

Link reached down and plucked the rupee from the bottom of the pond. Just as his fingers closed around the green crystal, however, a ripple ran through the water’s surface. A low pitched rumbling announced the sudden appearance of bubbles in the middle of the pool. Link felt the temperature of the water start to increase, a change that mirrored his rising panic.

“Who dares steal from me?” a voice shouted from the depths.


	9. Chapter 9

Link straightened up, allowing the incriminating crystal to sink back down into the silt. He desperately scanned the water for the source of the woman’s voice, but he wasn’t searching for long. The middle of the pond erupted in a ferocious plume that rivaled the trees in height, showering Link with the spray.

An enormous fairy floated in front of him, not wet in the slightest despite her grandiose entrance. She possessed the transparent wings of a dragonfly, but apparently didn’t need them for flight; they sat still on her back while she levitated a meter above the pond’s surface. Link also couldn’t help but note that she wasn’t wearing clothing, and was grateful that he hadn’t decided to doff his trousers earlier, as well.

“What do you have to say for yours--” the fairy began, but then a flash of recognition crossed her beautiful features. “Say, Link… you sure know how to keep a fairy waiting, don’t you?”

Everything about the fairy’s demeanor changed in an instant. She zoomed closer so that her face, easily double the size of Link’s, was more or less at eye level. She brushed her long black hair behind her head, and Link tried very hard not to shift his gaze any lower. When she smiled, Link could’ve sworn he heard a harp play a gentle arpeggio.

“So… what’s it been, Mister Hero? Ten years, twenty? You’re looking good, for a man of your age,” the fairy cooed.

Link tried to find his voice. “Who… exactly… are you?”

The great fairy chuckled, batting her eyes in a way that Link would have found endearing if he wasn’t equal parts terrified and confused.

“My, my, always the flirt, aren’t you, dear?” the fairy asked. After a pause, she took a closer look at the boy standing in her pond.

Her voice was flat when she asked, “You’re not Link, are you?”

She zoomed back to the middle of the pond and crossed her arms over her chest. “So, you’re an impostor _and_ a thief. What will your final words be?”

An unpleasant hum filled the air. Link knew the fairy was preparing a curse.

“Wait!” he cried. “I am Link. I’m just here for the Trial!”

The fairy’s eyes grew large for a moment and the energy in the air dissipated. “Oh Hylia, they’ve gone and done it again,” she said, offering nothing in the way of an explanation.

Link was about to ask for some kind of clarification, but the fairy acted first.

“Well, you’d better come here, then, dear. You see, your father… or something like that… was a very good friend of mine. So I’ll help you for free, but only this once. You’d better come back with rupees next time, okay dearie?”

Link could only nod, completely befuddled. Too much of what the fairy said made absolutely no sense to him, but she had mentioned his father. Did she really know him?

“Here… we… go!” said the fairy in a sing-song voice.

The fairy floated in circles around Link, and much to the initiate’s surprise, his feet left the pond’s silty bottom. By now the water was almost unbearably warm. A great deal of steam rose from the water and formed wispy tendrils around the now floating initiate. Rather than feeling wet, Link felt dry, warm, and comforted by this. It was pleasant. Link closed his eyes, willing this bliss to last for an eternity.

When the warmth finally started to fade, Link opened his eyes. He was standing in the grassy clearing near the edge of the pond. He was perfectly dry and wearing an unfamiliar hauberk under a dark green tunic. A long floppy hat of matching color now perched atop his mop of unruly blond hair.

What Link considered a miracle, however, wasn’t his surprise costume change. He delighted in that fact that all his injuries no longer ached. The scrape on his arms, the bruises on his knees, and most importantly, the gash on his stomach all faintly tingled, but the experience was not by any means unpleasant.

The fairy now looked a bit tired, but her cheeks shone brightly with blush and her smile was lively. She floated over to inspect Link once more.

“My, my, you do clean up nicely. When you’re a bit older, Link be sure to stop by.”

Link’s many questions all fought to be asked. The result was hardly intelligible.

“Wait. You, my father… who?”

Link groaned. It didn’t help that she was pretty, and pretty naked.

“Yes, dear. If you see that man, tell him it's been too long. Now, I really must go. It’s so draining to be here, especially without any rupees.”

The great fairy’s deafening “TOODELOO!” drowned out Link’s plea for her to wait. With a twirl, the fairy retreated into the depths of the pond, and the finally seething water became still.

Link took a deep breath in an attempt to dispel the frustration rising within him. With Rusl, he had discussed the matter of his parents many times. Rusl hadn’t known the knight that brought Link to the Keep, but insisted, with every conversation, that who Link’s parents were didn’t matter. As a knight errant, the only thing that would define him would be his skill in killing and not getting killed in turn.

Still, a part of Link longed to know who he was, or perhaps what he could’ve been.

He briefly thought about fishing another rupee out of the pond and using it to wheedle more information from the fairy, but Link figured that if she could mend his wounds, she could just as easily open them back up again. He rejoiced in the fact that he wouldn’t have to stitch himself up with fishing supplies, and so decided not to risk it. She had already threatened to kill him once today, and that would be enough.

Link determined that his only option was to trudge back up to the campfire to retrieve his things. Maybe, one day, he could return to the pond and learn more about his past, but right now, survival was the initiate’s first priority.

Link’s discarded armor--boots, chainmail, and all--had vanished by the time he returned to the fire by the stream. He quickly determined that Groose hadn’t doubled back and snagged them, or anyone else for that matter. The sand around the fire bore no new footprints to indicate an intruder. The disappearance wasn’t that strange. For all he knew, the fairy did something to his old armor and then whisked it onto his body. It was magic, after all.

What mattered was how much superior the fit was on his new suit. Gone were the awkward tugs in the mail’s arms and across the chest. His boots weren’t a size too large. All around, the materials seemed lighter and more flexible. To top it all off, it smelled nice, like the flowers that ringed the fairy’s pond and the fairy herself.

He supposed that even the strange hat was a nice addition. It might keep the top of his head warm, anyway.

Link checked the rest of his scant supplies for mysterious disappearances. Finding none, he slipped his scabbard and backpack over his shoulder and started walking with no particular direction in mind. The sky was starting to look overcast, so a warm place to sleep would be nice. It was still fairly chilly out, but Link didn’t seem to mind so much in his new suit.

After his fight with the arachas, Link learned the advantages of listening to the forest. As he walked, he started to hear less chatter from the birds and insects and more commotion in the undergrowth. A rabbit dashed across Link’s path, either oblivious to the Hylian or unconvinced of the danger he posed.

Link’s gaze rose to the treetops. Birds hopped noiselessly from branch to branch, seeking shelter rather than mates. Leaves rustled in the trees as the first couple of raindrops fell from the sky. High above both beasts and plants, a strong gust of wind pulled angry clouds over the sun.

Looks like rain, Link thought. And the wind’s howling…

But, without a doubt, the forest had spoken. He needed to get out of the coming storm.

Link knew that he was on the east side of the mountain, but because of Groose’s intervention he had no notion of exactly where he was. The ground was still relatively flat and the mountain’s peak, barely visible through the forest canopy, stood proud some great distance away. Should he remain in the lowlands and find a large tree to hunker under, or look for some rocky outcrop higher up the mountain?

A bolt of lightning struck a tree off to Link’s right and the accompanying pelt of thunder made him jump. Perhaps the tree wasn’t the best idea.

The initiate turned to face the mountain and began walking. Finding one of the trails that snaked up the mountain would be ideal, but Link didn’t have the time to waste looking around. Sword in hand, he resolved to make his own path through the underbrush if necessary.

Link hadn’t made it far before the rain started to fall in earnest. The heavens opened up on the thirsting earth, nurturing the woods with a freezing shower. Had he known the fairy was going to give him a new suit, he would have asked her to throw in an oilskin cloak while she was at it. Before long he was drenched, and he only hoped his new mail wouldn’t rust.

After what felt like an hour, Link’s improvised pathfinding rewarded him with a lucky break in the form of a break in the trees. Link reaffirmed his bearings, sighting the Keep in the distance. He shivered as an overwhelming sense of deja vu made him pause. As he looked around the clearing in the copse of trees, he noticed a trail that appeared to lead to higher ground. He dashed for it without a second thought; both his arms were already fatigued from cleaving branches out of his way and he relished the opportunity to make progress with his sword still sheathed.

Before long, a fork in the trail forced a decision on the initiate. Because he was fairly certain that the right fork would eventually meander its way back to the keep, he stuck with the left and hurried on. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and he could see his breath in front of him. With the amount of rain that had already fallen and the veritable deluge of rain yet to come, Link’s hopes of spending the evening dry, warm, and by a fire were quickly dying.

A strong blast of wind threatened to steal Link’s hat away. He shoved it further down on his head and trudged along. The floppy accessory wouldn’t last long if Link was constantly having to adjust it.

Another fork divided the path ahead, and Link opted for the right this time. Intuition guided his decision. He still wasn’t quite sure where he was, so what did it matter? The path became steep--almost treacherously so--and turned back on itself as it wound up the mountainside.

Link almost tripped over a tree root as he stumbled along. The trail leveled out, giving the struggling initiate a chance to catch his breath. His eyes wandered as he stood, panting like a dog, until they found a slight irregularity in the rocks nearby. Link walked over and was delighted to discover the mouth of a small cave in the stone wall. He jumped inside before he even noticed the single red eye waiting within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this one was a bit of a pleasant change from the spiders of a few chapters ago, if spiders aren't exactly your thing.  
> I'm guilty of ending chapters on low-key cliffhangers, but while I'm not going to reply with any spoilers in the comments, reading everyone's predictions so far has been entertaining.


	10. Chapter 10

As far as caves go, this one wasn’t so bad.

Link had taken refuge in similar locations when he was younger in an attempt to escape Groose’s taunts and typically violent tantrums. He learned the hard way that the best caves had multiple escape routes: after a humiliating defeat in weapons training, Groose, Strich, and Cawlin chased Link halfway around the Keep before finally cornering him against a similar shaded outcrop. Cawlin and Strich had held Link down while Groose beat him silly, an event that would later be passed off to the instructors as an unfortunate accident that involved climbing a pile of rubble. Link was more careful about selecting hiding places after that.

Other good caves had interesting fungi, animal specimens, or rocks. In his youth, Link would frequently attempt to pocket anything he hadn’t seen before to take back to Rusl. If it survived the journey (or didn’t claw its way out of Link’s pockets), the old knight was always more than eager to share with Link all he knew of the discovered oddity. More often than not, the trainee would learn a valuable alchemical or medicinal use from even the more mundane species of flora and fauna, and before Groose found and stole his rock collection, it comprised more than two dozen types of stones.

This cave had none of the usual stand-out features of a great cave. In fact, Link was disappointed in all its dimensions; calling it a cave was an insult to many of the great hiding places of his childhood. No exotic mushrooms clung to its walls, just a common grey lichen that was as useless in a kitchen as it was a cauldron. It wasn’t even very spacious; it was practically an oversized dimple in the rock walls. To top it all off, Link was certain that the only way out was directly behind him, the way he came in.

However, the cave had one important feature that no other cavern possessed: a large, glowing, one-eyed wolf, waiting just inside the entrance.

Link’s hand found his sword in an instant, but the white wolf made apparent no signs of hostility. The beast sat perfectly still on its hindquarters, the slow rise and fall of its chest the only indication that the initiate hadn’t stumbled upon the glittering likeness of a great wolf instead of a creature of flesh and fur.

Link stood in the mouth of the cave for some time, barely out of the rain but still closer to the beast than he’d prefer. His mind raced with explanations for the aberration before him, but for all his reading of relicts and nature spirits, no bestiary entry even vaguely resembled the wolf. Despite that, Link could have sworn he’d seen the creature somewhere before.

Perhaps this was why the initiate slowly, cautiously as to not startle the wolf, sheathed his blade. With open palms facing out in front of him, Link took a small step forward. He almost expected the wolf to vanish, to melt away like a foiled illusion, but the great beast didn’t so much as flicker. Its one good eye was fixed upon Link. It was watching, and Link suspected that it was waiting, as well.

The beast was old; this much was obvious by the grey on its muzzle. Link also sensed that it possessed intelligence beyond a mere animal. It had seen much of this world, he realized, so much more than the naive stripling that stood before it.

Link risked another step, his ears perked for even the slightest hint of protest from the wolf. Gravel crunched underfoot and a thunderclap accented the sharp staccato of rain striking the leaves outside, but the wolf remained silent. 

The initiate almost humored his mounting desire to find shelter elsewhere, and forget about the glowing beast before him. Almost. Eagus frequently reminded the trainees that the only difference between a curious knight and a dead one was a single mistake, but Link couldn’t help but disregard his instructor’s advice. He was enraptured by the wolf in a way he couldn’t quite describe, and he certainly would prefer to avoid venturing out into the freezing downpour once more if he could help it.

Link closed the distance to the sitting wolf in a final bold step. Had he not valued his hand, he could have reached out and stroked its golden fur. The initiates heart pounded in his chest as--finally--the wolf stirred; merely standing on all four paws caused Link to lurch back in anticipation.

The wolf shook itself like it was stretching after a long nap. Link couldn’t help but wonder how long the creature had been sitting there. The beast turned around and plodded deeper into the cave and, to Link’s amazement, passed through the cave’s back wall like it was naught but thin air. For a brief second only its tail was still visible, but then it too disappeared.

Link’s knowledge of the workings of magicks was only slightly better than the average peasant’s, who most likely believed every misfortune, from the spoiling of milk to the strike of lightning, was the result of some magic gone afoul or divine retribution. The initiate read all that he could, of course, and generally remembered Rusl’s recounts of his dealings with magic before he took up permanent residence in the keep. Illusions happened to be one of the types of magicks that knights errant happened to run across fairly frequently.

Link rationalized that the wolf could very well be an illusion. It was the only explanation that could possibly justify the creature’s otherworldly appearance and its ability to vanish through solid objects. It must simply not be real.

But even that hypothesis raised doubts. In all of Rusl’s tales, illusions served some purpose; a powerful entity placed such an enchantment for a reason, like to guard some precious treasure or distract an enemy. Who would have any interest in conjuring a spectral wolf in a tiny cave such as this?

Without warning, the wolf’s mournful howl echoed around the small cavern. For an illusion, the sound was frighteningly accurate to the wolves’ keening that Link heard on sleepless nights back in the Keep. The initiate’s racing heart was proof enough that the whole illusion was eerily convincing. Not even Rusl had ever encountered an illusion that moved and made noise, although master Gaepora had once conjectured that such a fabrication could exist, in theory.

The theoretical application of magic interested Link no more than the vagaries of early to late classical literature, as both were well beyond comprehension by normal Hylians. His focus was strictly on the part of the cave where the wolf had vanished and the howling later originated. The dark surface played host to grey lichen, no different from the rest of the cave. In fact, this segment of the cave wall was indistinct from any other, and if Link hadn’t been staring at that spot since the wolf's disappearance, he could have easily confused it with an adjacent wall. Link ran a hand along the lichen-coated surface, but with a gasp, found that the stone offered no resistance and his hand had sunk into what appeared to be a solid cave wall. He could no longer see his fingers, and the thought of them permanently embedded in the stone was unsettling. He rolled his wrist, reassuring himself that he could still move freely before pushing the rest of his body through the false wall.

Hidden behind the illusion was a room many times the size of the space behind him. This part of the cavern featured smooth, polished walls and white marble pillars not native to these mountains. Although the same uninteresting lichen coated these walls, the columns attracted thin green vines with tiny blue flowers. A shallow pond in the middle of the room encircled a pedestal cut from the same marble as the pillars. 

The wolf was the only other creature in the room. It sat on its back paws just like it had previously, but in this room the faint light its fur emitted was dwarfed by another source. On the marble pedestal resting amidst the pillars floated a golden triangle, spinning ever so slowly and flooding the room with its golden brilliance.

Instinct clashed with emotion. Link’s training insisted that he be weary, for he could no longer tell illusion from reality. Despite this, the room radiated a feeling of calm, and the initiate felt assured that he was in the right place. The wolf--strangely the only element of the room that his gut insisted was real--looked on with the same expression as before, its one good eye conveying no hostility. After staring at the bewildered initiate for a second longer, it turned its head to the golden triangle, then turned back to look at Link.

Whatever doubts the initiate still possessed dissipated as he approached the source of the room’s resplendent light. After one last glance back to the impassive wolf, Link crossed the thin moat to the altar and reached for the golden treasure. The moment his fingers closed around it, the artifact released a blinding burst of light. A sudden heat seared the back of his hand, causing him to inadvertently drop the relic. He never heard it hit the floor.

After a moment spent blinking and waving his palm in front of his face, Link’s vision slowly started to return to him. Multitudinous white spots still obstructed his sight, hindering his attempts to relocate the dropped treasure. Blindly and frantically, his hands first felt the air in front of him in case his treasure still floated. Finding nothing, he transitioned to scouring the smooth stone floor, but his search still bore no fruit. Looking down, he noticed something curious about his glove.

Had he simply never noticed the glowing triangle on the back of his left hand? The gloves were a gift from the fairy, so it was possible that he just hadn’t been observant. But if so, then what explained the unexpected pain there when he touched the artifact?

Link hurriedly bit the finger of his glove and yanked it off his hand. To his amazement, the glowing triangle had nothing to do with the glove after all.

Branded to the back of his still aching hand was the golden triangle, and Link knew for a fact it hadn’t been there moments before. 

Without warning, a woman’s soft laughter filled the cavern, mellifluous and sweet. Link spun around, searching for the source, but his efforts located no other presence in the room. Even the wolf had vanished out of sight yet again.

“Relax, my chosen champion. Be still. The artifact you fear you lost is safe within you. Listen, for I have much to explain.”

Link obediently straightened up. His eyes still saw more of the white spots than his actual surroundings, but he could just barely make out the figure of a woman sitting on the marble pedestal, shrouded in green light. A slight breeze whistled into the cavern from behind Link, carrying with it a sweet, floral aroma and several leaves. These leaves aligned themselves into a crown and gently came to rest on the ethereal woman’s brow.

“I am Farore, the goddess of courage. You are now the living vessel of my power, my third of the triforce.”

Link regretted his former impiety and, upon hearing those words, dropped to a knee in reverence. He wasn’t sure what exactly would please a deity, but he hoped it was a good start.

His sudden devotion earned him only more mirth from the goddess.

“Rise, hero. We have no time for that, I’m afraid.”

Red in the face, Link rose to his feet.

“Listen well; the fate of the continent depends on it. You must find Princess Zelda of Hyrule. She is my sister’s chosen, and she will help you on your quest to bring peace to the land. Already, I feel as though it is too late, but you must hurry regardless. Perhaps, not all is lost.”

Doubt drove the embarrassment from Link’s face. Any opportunity to pose a question was denied to him, however. A divine hand reached forward and placed a silencing finger over his mouth.

“I know your worries. Fear not. You were trained to slay monsters, but you will find that your skills will translate well to your new task. Your Trials, by my decree, are now complete. A larger fate now awaits you than waiting out the remainder of your week in the woods.”

The goddess removed her finger and pressed her palms together in front of her chest. A breeze rushed through the room, blowing in every which way. He was still drenched from the raging storm outside the cavern, and found the cooling currents to be rather unwelcome.

“Chosen hero, I offer you one final boon. You have already channeled the magic of my sisters, Nayru’s Love and Din’s Fire. Here is Farore’s Wind. Call upon my magic when danger abounds.”

The wind shifted once more: where before the air was unfocused, it now shot from the goddess directly towards Link with enough force to knock his hat to the floor. A tendril of green light also raced from the goddess to the initiate, and when it struck his chest, Link’s hand twitched at his side in the shape of a sign.

Over the roar of the wind the goddess shouted: “Now go, my champion! Find Zelda, she can tell you more.”

The green light enshrouding the goddess flared, and for another moment Link was blinded. He knew without having to check that divinity had fled the cave: the wind instantly died and the sweet smell of flowers already started to fade. Although the only light in the cave was the faint glow from his hand, he could still make out the floral crown resting on the altar. Link admired the beautifully wrought wreath for a moment before making his way for the false wall. He stooped down to retrieve his hat on the way, shoving it down all the way to his pointy ears while whispering it a warning to stay put, or else.

Link startled when, as he stepped through the illusion, he discovered that he wasn’t in the outer cave. Instead, he found himself standing on a small rocky shelf overlooking the clouds themselves. The sky, lacking a sun, shone an otherworldly shade of sickly green. Link walked over to the edge of the crumbling platform, causing a small clod of soil to fall an indeterminable distance before being engulfed by the clouds. He took a hesitant step back, wishing to avoid a similar, terrible fate.

The unmistakable sound of a sword leaving its scabbard caused Link to spin around and nearly lose his balance. Wearing weathered, rusty armor and a familiar tri-horned helmet stood a one-eyed knight. The dark skin that peeked through the chips in his armor displayed evidence of disease and decay, an analysis reinforced by the pungent scent that wafted Link’s way.

Without provocation, the knight charged, closing the distance of the rocky platform in the blink of an eye. The initiate’s hand found his sword with enough time to deflect the thrust aimed at his throat, but only just barely.

“I know you,” Link whispered, twirling the blade in his hand as the ruined knight leapt back, the tip of his sword still pointed towards the initiate’s chest.

“Do you, now?” came the cold reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's ten chapters. Judging by what I've got planned, there should be about 20-30 more of this story, with maybe a few additional as an epilogue.  
> Thoughts so far? I always love to hear them!


	11. Chapter 11

”Princess, it does not befit a ruler to pace as you do.”

The monarch ignored her advisor, her pacing becoming more exaggerated out of spite.

“That’s enough, Impa. There’s nobody watching, anyhow.”

The elderly Sheikah shook her head, her long silver braid swaying in front of her. “The man with the evil eyes sees all. He will be able to tell if you are nervous.”

Zelda stopped in her tracks and uncrossed her arms only to ball them into fists at her side.

“It doesn’t matter what that pig knows. Our border shall not permit a single damned desert thief passage, let alone an entire army of them! I don’t care what he offers us. The answer is a resolute no, and if he disagrees, he’ll find more than a fair fight between the Zora’s warships and our own soldiers.”

“A prudent decision, your highness, Hyrule is the stepping stone to the Northern Kingdoms. Ordona, Lanayru, Faron, and Eldin all rely on us to deter invasion. It is imperative--”

“Exactly!” the princess fumed. “So what are you--”

The advisor didn’t tolerate being interrupted, even by royalty.

“Zelda.”

The princess fell silent, although only reluctantly if the frown on her lips was any indication.

“As I was saying, it is imperative that we halt the Gerudo Empire’s advances at our border. But how you rebuff their demands may very well be the difference between peace and war. And while we may be prepared, a long and costly conflict is the last thing our kingdom needs at the moment.”

Zelda sighed, hoping a quick prayer to Nayru would quell the anger rising in her chest and the ache in her hand where her fragment of the Triforce rested. It had been throbbing with dull pain lately, yet the goddess’ silence offered her no insight into this alarming development.

“Like always, Impa, you are right. I often think that it is you, not I, that have been entrusted with the goddess’ wisdom. Tell me, what is your counsel? Speak, and I will listen.”

Impa chuckled, sending her long braid spinning opposite the direction it had previously.

“Of course, princess. Will you sit for some tea?”

Zelda joined her advisor at the low table. Gilded teacups clattered on saucers bearing the royal crest as the two prepared their beverages. Upon receiving hers, Zelda peered into the ruddy liquid. The reflection that stared back at her wasn’t the perfect image of the ruling monarch, but it would have to do.

Zelda’s long brown hair wasn’t quite as neat as she wanted, but it would have to do. The envoy wouldn’t be long now, and the princess certainly had more pressing matters than her hair. She thought she spotted a blemish on her dark skin in her reflection, but it was just a tea leaf that had floated to the surface.

Zelda’s complexion was unusual for her people, but considering her father, she was lucky that she didn’t have fur. Or quills. At least she got her mother’s hair.

The princess missed both her parents dearly. They had both perished in a storm off Hyrule’s coast five years ago, but the pain Zelda felt didn’t seem to recognize that even a day had passed.

Now, as the princess prepared to ascend her throne on her seventeenth birthday as dictated by Hyrule’s ancient customs, she grieved their loss more than ever. Despite Impa’s reassurances, Zelda believed that she could never truly possess the knack for statecraft that her father had, even despite his disfiguring affliction. And with her outlandish looks and normally cold expression, she doubted that she would ever carry the people’s adoration like her mother and her never faltering smile.

The teacup shook violently in the princess’ hands, threatening to spill scalding tea on her lap. Zelda took a couple of breaths in an attempt to calm herself, but it soon became apparent that no amount of air would still her tremulous fingers. She had just managed to return her cup to its plate when her hand convulsed with a pain like none other she had experienced. The Triforce shed a brilliant light and hummed angrily.

After a moment spent with eyes scrunched shut and both hands pressed to her chest, Zelda felt the pain subside. She opened her eyes to find Impa’s wide with shock. The elderly Sheikah had apparently fallen off her pillow in surprise, but she hastened to regain her composure and her seat with all the grace of a woman many years younger.

“Impa, please tell me you know what just happened,” Zelda pleaded.

Impa nodded slowly, still assembling the pieces of the puzzle together in her head. After a moment’s pause, she replied.

“I’m afraid I do, my lady. It seems that Farore has finally selected her champion, after all this time.

Zelda blanched, and now her hands shook for another reason.

“Do… do you think _he_ felt that?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“We can only assume,” came the advisor’s terse reply.

“I’m afraid, Impa.”

The leader of the Sheikah got to her feet with age-defying swiftness.

“It changes nothing, dear, except that now he will be even more determined to pass through Hyrule, or even annex our entire kingdom in his pursuit of another piece of the goddess’ golden treasure.”

Impa’s short legs guided her to a window overlooking the verdant palace gardens. Zelda joined her in an instant, although it was several seconds before Impa noticed. The elder Sheikah smiled, glad that the princess had been practicing rolling her feet.

Zelda examined not the greenery before her, but her own fragment of the Triforce. It still faintly glowed, though the buzzing had stopped several moments ago.

“Does he suspect… this?” the soon-to-be queen asked, raising her hand.

Impa shrugged, although the rise and fall of her tiny shoulders was hardly perceptible.

“That much not even our best infiltrators could discover. It would be best to assume that he does, but conceal it nonetheless.”

Zelda said nothing in reply. Her eyes scoured the horizon, and although she was looking to admire the sunset, the ominous storm clouds were all she saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another scene change! Hope nobody was *too* excited for the impending showdown, but chronologically this does happen first, and I felt like I couldn't delay Zelda's introduction any longer than I already have.


	12. Chapter 12

“You were the wolf.”

Another parry caught what would have been a lethal thrust. Dust flew into the air as two sets of feet repositioned themselves in preparation for the next exchange of blows.

“Yes. I was,” the more ghastly of the two replied. His voice reminded Link of a whetstone traveling down the length of a blade, and his mouth hardly moved when he spoke.

The pair’s circular dance brought them to a full revolution around the rocky platform. Link spared a moment to glance around his surroundings whenever he gambled that he could get away with it, but his search revealed no way down. The blighted swordsman didn’t offer him many opportunities to spend looking around, however; his attacks fell one after the other with unerring accuracy and unrelenting vigor. It would only require a tiny lapse in Link’s concentration at the wrong moment to bring the fight to a quick and bloody end.

Link brought his sword up in the nick of time, deflecting the blow at the perfect angle to send his attacker stumbling back. Yet, Link didn’t press his advantage; his eyes drilled into the other swordsman’s lone glowing red orb, and the knight regained his balance. The initiate still sensed no real malice from the swordsman, although this lofty estimation was once again put into question by a blow leveled for his throat.

Link opted to dodge out of the way this time, spinning on his feet and ducking low. The ghastly swordsman’s strength could be felt in every deflected blow, but he wasn’t as limber as the stripling he fought. Link once again let an opportunity to retaliate pass.

“This isn't the first time we’ve met,” Link said, calling to mind a memory from his youth. 

“Indeed,” the dreadful warrior intoned. The fighter’s voice was as unreadable as his attacks, and a feinted lunge almost sent Link sprawling into the dirt. Only a hasty flip to the side saved Link from a wound that would have made the arachas’ look like a scratch in comparison.

Link’s breathing was starting to become labored, a fact that came as a surprise to the initiate. He had only been fighting for a couple of minutes; how could he already be short of breath? Meanwhile, his opponent didn’t seem to be suffering in the slightest. For a moment, Link wondered if the man was breathing at all.

Steel bit into steel once more, and this time a chip in his opponent’s weapon caught Link’s blade and almost wrested it from his grasp.

A bolt of lightning arced through the sky, snaking a great distance horizontally before dipping beneath the clouds. The sudden burst of light caught the swordsman’s features in an eerie silhouette. 

Link gasped. That helmet, the one lonely eye… he remembered. After deflecting another blow, he bellowed, “You brought me to the keep!”

The knight halted the duo’s deadly dance around the skybound arena. Link suspected another trick until, with one withered hand, his mysterious foe reached for his helm and tore it from his head. It clattered on the ground just as another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. For a moment, Link’s own face flashed before his eyes, mounted on the knight’s uneven shoulders. The initiate recoiled in horror, his heel releasing another clod of dirt to fall down far beyond a distance the eye could follow.

Without the lightning’s illumination, the swordsman’s face reverted to its skeletal appearance. While it still bore an uncanny resemblance to Link’s, it was clearly the face of a much older man and was wrapped in the same blighted skin as the rest of his body.

The faintest note of regret haunted the swordsman’s next words: “For that, I am eternally sorry, Link.”

“Why?” Link asked. “And why are you attacking me?”

The swordsman offered no explanation, opting instead to lunge forward once again, his blade flying downward from a two-handed overhead strike. Link parried furiously, sending the ruined knight’s sword flying out of his hands and spiraling down to whatever awaited below the clouds. Link didn’t wait to hear it hit the ground; he wasted no time in leveling his blade with his foe’s now vulnerable neck.

“Answer me,” demanded Link.

The wraith grinned with a mouth full of missing or crooked teeth. “In her sanctum, the goddess gave you the courage to resist evil. I, too, have a gift for you: the courage to kill.”

He inched forward till the tip of Link’s blade was just barely touching his exposed neck. From this distance, Link could see through the pallid skin stretched taut over withered veins. With a start, Link realized that he couldn’t hear the man’s heart beating. No fog collected on his blade’s surface.

“What are you?” Link asked as his knees began to shake. He adjusted the grip on his blade, for once in his life grateful for the bulky two-handed hilt.

A raspy chuckle escaped the wraith’s cracked lips. 

“Dead,” was his reply, “just as you’ll be if you don’t pierce my throat. I’ll force Farore to find a new champion if you can’t do the deed! Accept my gift!”

The cadaverous knight’s laughter grew louder and more sinister, but Link had heard enough. He shoved his blade forward with all his might, sending half a meter of steel through the knight’s withered throat. The red eye gleamed in the darkness, staring not at Link but somewhere beyond. Instead of stopping, the laughter only grew louder, echoing in a macabre cacophony that couldn’t have come from a single throat, nor a dozen. A high chittering joined the ensemble, accompanied by the hysterical giggling of a hyena and a low rumble that could just as easily have been a pelt of distant thunder as it was a great belly laugh.

Without warning, the specter’s arms shot out and gripped Link by the shoulders. With the grin of a maniac, it pulled itself closer to Link, further impaling itself on the blade. Blood, similar to tar in both color and viscosity, slowly seeped from the wound. Still, the laughter persisted.

It was fortunate that Link couldn’t pull away, for his mind was elsewhere and he had forgotten that he stood on the precipice of an impossibly high cliff. His unblinking eyes still stared into the specter’s lonely red orb; he was no less paralyzed than when he saw the casualties from the first Trial. He could still remember the pristine white sheets that lay over his fellow trainees and the sterilizing agent’s scent mixed with the stench of something rotten. The noxious odor seemed to fill his nostrils, even now. Everything from that first awful night was so clear in his mind, and yet he couldn’t run. He couldn’t scream. Not when the rocky platform suddenly resembled the Keep’s sinister laboratory and he found himself standing there once more. Not when his vision swam and there were three new tables, three more tell-tale lumps indicating three more bodies lying lifeless under the immaculate shroud. When one of them sat up, Link didn’t flinch--no, Link’s body didn’t flinch. Link’s body couldn’t flinch. The blanket fell away, revealing Colin’s lifeless eyes and two parallel red trenches running from his shoulder to his waist cutting through both armor and flesh. Rusl slowly rose beside him, and although his neck was bent at an impossible angle, his smile was even more crooked. There was one final table, but Link could already tell what body occupied it. A long green hat stuck out from under the blanket. Three crimson circles slowly grew in size on the white cloth that covered his unmoving form, starting out as mere pinpricks inches apart but quickly dyeing the whole sheet the color of blood. His blood.

In a moment, it was over. The hilt of Link’s blade had reached the wraith’s throat, finally silencing the laughter. Link realized with a start that the pair of skeletal arms had somehow wrapped around him, and the diseased face was only an inch from his own. The pair had both fallen to their knees, and Link realized that they were once again in the small outer cavern. Although Link recalled neither the passage of time nor any distance travelled, the rain had subsided and the morning light gave the specter a slightly more human complexion. To Link’s surprise, the ghoulish lips moved once more.

“Good luck, son. May we meet again under more pleasant circumstances.”

Before he had even finished talking, a change started to overtake his features. For just a moment, Link saw his father for who he truly was, or might have once been. Warm sinewy skin replaced the bluish mimicry that had previously clung to the man’s body, and gone was the stench of decay. With slits like a cat’s did both his eyes shine golden, though a hint of blue persisted around the irises despite the mutagens’ transformation. A lone tear rolled down his rose-colored cheek. Sure enough, the man lying in Link’s arms had nearly identical features.

It only lasted for a moment. Link blinked and found that he once again held a cadaver. The glowing red eye had closed, and somehow Link knew that it would never open again. In a matter of seconds, the wraith turned to dust before his very eyes, the fine silvery powder falling through his hands like sand. Link rose to his feet and staggered out of the cave. 

He turned back, wanting one last glimpse of the cave to help him find his way back, if he ever needed to return. To his surprise, however, only a solid sheet of rock stood behind him, vacant of even the slightest hint of an alcove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear any thoughts you guys have about this chapter, or how the story is going as a whole. This part was fun for me to write (probably because it had lots of Witcher-esque tidbits here and there), and I hope it was fun for you to read!


	13. Chapter 13

Link needed to sit down. An ache in the back of his head pounded with every step, and the tree branches danced in his vision even when the paltry southern wind had petered out. Twice already he had stumbled over unnoticed obstructions in the underbrush. He had no explanation for his current maladies, but they were the least of his concerns. What was a headache, after all, compared to what he had just experienced?

By now the sun had shifted to its halfway point in the sky, yet the hero seemed no closer to his home than when he had set out that morning. Its cruel rays further addled Link’s wits, who only just realized his plan to meander his way up the mountainside was a folly. He was lost, yet for some reason he could not set his mind to focus on survival at the moment. His head was an indeterminate distance elsewhere, still high above the clouds.

The last week contained enough inexplicable events to convince Link that he would wake up from his second Trial any minute.

Mutated kikimores with wings and feathers didn’t make sense. Neither did vegetarian deku babas or co-ed Gerudo schools of philosophy. Yet Link was almost more willing to believe any of these implausibilities than accept all that had happened to him recently. Until now, the entirety of what mattered to him could be explained in a book or bestiary, or by one of his instructors. For the first time in his life, Link felt that even Rusl and all of his accrued wisdom couldn’t help him. He was on his own, left by himself to sift through his memories.

Separating fact from phantasm proved to be no easy task, but imagined or not, Link hadn’t emerged from the cave unchanged. Yes, he was now the instrument of Farore and keeper of her golden treasure. He doubted that he would ever forget that, at least while the Triforce remained branded on the back of his hand. But another, more sinister change had taken root, for the specter with the familiar face indeed kept his word. Link had been terrified, but it wasn’t fear that drove his blade through the ghastly knight’s withered blue neck…

Mindlessly placing one foot in front of the other was almost more than Link could manage. A stroke of luck guided him to one of the paths snaking up the mountainside. Without conscious decision, his feet guided him towards the Keep. At least an hour passed before Link was even aware that he was following a trail of any sort, and another before he noticed familiar landmarks.

He had thought about leaving the mountain without returning to the Keep, but the initiate sorely lacked supplies. He had set out with only seven days’ survival in mind, and even then he possessed no food and little in the way of gathering more. Link suspected that the goddess’ quest would likely encompass more than a week. Only Farore knew to what excess, although Link was willing to wager he’d starve well before then without the right equipment. Even beyond basic needs, however, he desired the opportunity to bid Rusl and Colin farewell, and perhaps offer an explanation to the knights, or at least an apology for abandoning the Trial. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Before his brush with the divine, Link wouldn’t have traded his knighthood for anything. But now he felt he was walking a path that someone else had led him to; each step forward was a step in the right direction. The peculiar feeling resisted description; he had only felt this way before in dreams that he could no longer remember. It just felt right.

Link was still lost in thought when his path began to level out and the Keep’s ruined walls stood before him. Cool evening air helped abate his headache. Although it wasn’t fully gone, his head felt more securely attached to his shoulders and his feet were steady below him. The front gate was closed and likely barred for the night, but considering that the wall at its lowest point stood a mere four feet off the ground, entry was by no means denied to the homebound initiate. He vaulted the wall without difficulty and found himself standing in a courtyard that hadn’t changed at all since he’d left.

Wanting to make his presence known rather than be found accidentally, Link hastened towards the Great Hall where he would most likely encounter someone this late into the evening. The possibility of finding a meal there was only an added bonus.

Link paused at the large oaken double doors. He might fail the simplest of Trials and risk his knighthood if any of the instructors saw him, yet here he was about to reveal himself to them by his own volition. Would anyone believe his tale of caves and illusions? Link recalled the goddess’ words, encouraging haste. Trial or not, he had more pressing matters on hand. With a push, the doors creaked open.

The number of heads that turned cracked Link’s resolve. Every soul in the Keep sat around the long tables, instructors and knights errant and even Colin, the only trainee. All fell silent as the goddess’ chosen walked in and meekly turned to pull the door closed behind him. A knight that Link didn’t recognize paused mid-sentence with his arms spread wide, seemingly in the middle of recounting a tale from his travels.

Eagus was the first to react. He furiously rose to his feet without concern for the many empty mugs scattered around him on the table and floor.

“What are you doing here, boy! Did you hit your head? You aren’t supposed to be back yet!”

Colin wore an expression of confusion, counting on his fingers and coming up short of the seven days Link was expected to be gone. 

“Why are you back so soon, Link? And where did you pick up the new tunic and hat?”

Rusl said nothing, likely learning more from his piercing stare than any of Link’s possible explanations could provide. He didn’t look pleased, but the same could be said for every other knight in the room.

Eagus, however, was beyond displeased. He marched over to Link and roughly shoved him through the doors and out of the hall. Link barely managed to keep to his feet, although the stench of alcohol in the instructor’s breath nearly succeeded where the push had failed.

“Get out and come back in a week! If I see you again before then, I’ll strike you down where you stand!”

He fumbled for the doors’ handles, but master Gaepora intervened.

“Enough, Eagus. Link, come here.”

The instructor stormed back to his seat at the table, sending a mug sailing into the wall with a kick as he went. Link gulped as it shattered against the far wall, sending bits of clay flying in all directions.

Obediently, Link stepped into the hall once more and advanced to master Gaepora in the back of the room, sitting by the fireplace. Although hushed voices resumed swapping their tales, Link knew that everyone was listening with half an ear, curious in anticipation for Gaepora’s response.

The master of the Keep sat in a high-backed chair reminiscent of a throne. He wore an oversized blue cloak that covered his entire body except his face. Like always, his features were granite and unreadable. His eyes betrayed nothing, and there was some speculation among the knights as to whether or not those twin cloudy orbs still observed anything beyond the edge of his nose.

“Show me your hand, child,” the old man spoke. He extended his own from a fold in his robe. It was wrinkled and scarred, but it didn’t tremble like Link expected it to. The strength with which it grasped Link’s was surprising enough to make the initiate flinch.

Link knew which hand to offer. His right rested at his side, slowly curling and releasing a tightly balled fist.

The Triforce on his left still faintly shone through his glove, causing Link to wonder if he would ever be able to extinguish its luminance. Master Gaepora bent his head closer to the hand, inspecting not only the glowing emblem of the goddess but the glove itself.

Finally, the old man let go. His arm retreated back into the depth of his robes and he slowly rose to his feet.

“Eagus… no, someone less inebriated… Rusl, go and fetch Link’s sword from the forge. Colin, assist Link in grabbing his things. Pipit, find him something to eat and drink.

It was surprise, not deliberate disobedience, that kept the knights in their seats. Nobody had expected the old master to utter more than a sentence, even if he decided to banish Link from the Keep. But while Gaepora did let past his lips more words than he usually permitted, no circumstance would be too dire to force him to repeat himself. His glance said enough; with much haste did Rusl dash for the doors. Although slower to react, Pipit was no less enthusiastic in stoking the fire. Apparently stale biscuits wouldn’t be enough for whatever Gaepora had in mind. Finally, Colin raced towards Link, grabbed his hand, and sprinted for the tower, dragging the similarly bewildered initiate in tow.

As the pair fled the hall, Link overheard Eagus’ confused outburst. Although he couldn’t make out Geapora’s response, the following silence was telling enough.

Gaepora knew enough, if not the entirety, of his encounter with divinity. Link sighed; he wouldn’t be getting a good night’s rest after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this one took a step back from the high-octane action of some of the previous chapters, but poor Link *seriously* needs a break to rest from all the crazy things happening around him.
> 
> If its any consolation, the coming chapters promise to bear more excitement and intrigue. Just you wait... once Link finally leaves the mountain, we'll finally get our first glimpses of the rest of the continent! Yay!


	14. Chapter 14

“That was scary,” Colin said as Link wrapped his ocarina in a spare shirt before gently placing it in his backpack.

Link nodded disinterestedly, preoccupied with packing and wondering what, exactly, Gaepora planned to do next. The master knight didn’t seem at all upset that Link had returned early. He suspected that he wasn’t going to be exiled from the Keep, but beyond that was anyone’s guess.

Colin handed Link the last of his things, an old winter blanket that will no doubt prove useful throughout the coming months. Link set it on top of the rest of his possessions, then closed and fastened the straps on his pack.

“So Link, what exactly happened? Why are you back so soon?”

Link’s mood had improved greatly once his backpack rested on his shoulders, but he was still by no means chatty. A soft sigh escaped his lips: part of his hesitation wasn’t from unwillingness, but simply the difficulty of choosing a place to start his strange series of events.

“Alright, come on. I’ll fill you in as we walk. Everything was going fine until this damnable spider showed up…”

Although the Great Hall wasn’t far, Link was surprised with how much of the last few days he managed to recount to Colin before the pair stood outside the great wooden doors. He hadn’t explained the fight with the ghastly knight, but Link decided that it was better to skip over that part anyway, at least until he himself could make some sense of what happened.

A hush befell the hall as the pair walked in. For a brief moment, the fire was the loudest thing in the room, crackling under the pot that Pipit occasionally stirred.

Master Gaepora gestured for Link to come forward to where he sat by the fire, then nodded at Rusl who must have arrived from the forge while Link was packing. In his mentor’s hands rested a plain leather scabbard that concealed all but the hilt of a sword. Eagus also walked over, a bit more steady on his feet than when Link had last seen him.

“Err… sorry for that outburst earlier, boy. I wasn’t aware of all that had happened. I, well, we made this for you. It’s nothing special. All the knights get their first made in the Keep. May it serve you well. Oh, and don’t lose it.”

Link accepted the scabbard from Rusl, who nodded encouragingly when the initiate’s hand hovered over the hilt. He drew the sword, marveling at the handle that seemed neither too bulky nor too cramped. The blade had been slightly shortened as well, but as the sword left its sheath the wielder could hardly tell. The balance rested just above the crossguard and the overall weight had been decreased for optimal single-handed use. Link took a step back and gave it an experimental swing, cutting through the air almost effortlessly. Rusl had listened when Link complained about the swords they used to practice with, it seemed, and guided Eagus’ design. The result was a nearly flawless weapon.

“You did well, Eagus,” Rusl said, noticing the wide grin on the young knight’s face. “Looks like Link here appreciates his new toy.”

Eagus muttered a few phrases all at once under his breath, a nearly unintelligible tangle of “it’s nothing” and “not without help”, but his cheeks were red, and not from the alcohol.

Master Gaepora rose to his feet, a slow and solemn movement. He closed the short distance to Link and the knights with three deliberate steps.

“Your sword, Link. Let me see it.”

Link didn’t even think to sheath it before handing it, hilt first, to Gaepora. The old master held the point of the blade between their faces.

Staring across the tip of the blade, Gaepora commanded Link to kneel. The initiate immediately took to a knee, head bowed.

“Destiny… is a double edged sword. You stand on one side…”

Gaepora dipped the blade down to Link’s left shoulder.

“And what lies at the end of your path, the other.”

The sword rose and gently fell to rest on Link’s other shoulder.

“I know not what the goddesses demand of you, but haste is necessary regardless.”

Gaepora paused, and only Link could see the slight shiver that raced down the old master’s spine.

“Rise, Knight.”

A weak cheer resounded through the hall. Link got to his feet in a daze and accepted the sword back from master Gaepora. Pipit beckoned the newest knight to the fire where a stew simmered.

The chef’s congratulatory slap on the back roused the newest knight from his stupor. Link blinked, smiled, and ladled himself a large helping of pumpkin stew.

While it was hard to believe that anything could have been more important than shoveling heaping spoonfuls into his mouth at that moment, Link couldn’t help but give his new title a try, to see how it sounded on his lips. Link of Ordonia.

Of course, none of the knights likely knew exactly where they were from. The so-called Pipit of Lanayru, for example, had actually never set foot in the province whose name he incorporated into his own. Rusl recommended that all the trainees pick up mannerisms from a neighboring kingdom. It certainly sounded better to the common folk than “Link the Orphan” or “Link of Nowhere”, and encouraged them to treat the knights more like normal Hylians, not mutated monsters themselves. 

Link had picked Ordonia on a whim, primarily because Groose picked Eldin and Link wanted as little to do with them as possible. Regardless, the fake accent and the colloquialisms had all prepared him for the journey to come.

The stew pot quickly emptied itself into servings of seconds and thirds, and although Link had plenty of help finishing it off, nobody stopped him from taking as much as he wished. A handful of the knights errant had already retired for the night, giving Link false hopes that he could sneak off and find some sleep, as well. Colin regaled the remaining knights, Rusl and Eagus included, with a slightly exaggerated retelling of Link’s most recent Trial. In his version of the story, the heroic initiate fought off not one angry arachas, but a whole nest of them.

“It would be best if you departed soon, Link,” Gaepora called from his throne by the fireplace.

Link left the others at the table and walked over. He feared that Colin would distort the story without a scowl constantly reminding him to stick with the script, but he decided to let it slide. The trainee had just gotten to the part about Groose, and Link was content to let the child’s vindictive imagination run wild.

“May we converse? I have questions,” Link asked, although he didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. 

“How did you know? You took one look at my hand and then I was a knight on a quest.”

Gaepora expelled a huff of air that could have been the vestiges of a once mirthful laugh.

“I’ve been around, Link. Read a few prophecies, even had a few visions, myself.”

If that was all the master was willing to share, then it would have to be enough. Link expected Gaepora to only tolerate another question at most, so he readied his most pressing.

“The knight who took me in--he was my father, wasn’t he?”

This time, the master looked genuinely surprised, although the expression was easy to miss, and passed after a short moment. The old man selected his words carefully before opening his mouth again.

“In a manner of speaking… yes. He, like you, was also called upon by the goddesses.”

Although master Gaepora answered his question in possibly the most infuriating and unhelpful way possible, Link appreciated even the most vague confirmation. He had a dozen additional questions, but the keeper of the Keep silenced him with a wave of his hand.

“Your other inquiries will find their answers on the path. You have a role in the goddesses’ grand play, and while I do not know any specifics, I know you certainly can’t perform it here.”

Link’s frustration vanished with a resigned sigh. He nodded. Despite the considerable distance he had already trekked during the day, he felt like he could at least make it to one of the closer foothill villages by morning, and finally rest then.

Link bade farewell to the old knight, thanked Eagus and Rusl for his sword and countless hours of teachings, and wished Pipit and Colin luck wherever their paths take them. The young trainee nearly bawled upon hearing Link’s goodbye, but after a final embrace, handed the departing knight a small coin purse.

“It’s not much, but I got a couple of rupees from everyone. Spend it on food and lodging, not pretty fairies, alright?”

Eagus flashed Link a dirty look for forgetting to omit that part of the story, but any scolding would have to take place later. The young knight nearly made it out the door before he was stopped by another gift. Link gratefully accepted Pipit’s small bundle of biscuits, and returned his knowing stare. Something told him that the yellow-clad knight had spent some time with his fair share of fairies during his travels.

Finally, Link escaped the Great Hall. The air outside was cool and crisp, in sharp contrast with the warmth and smoke found inside. Not a single cloud drifted between the mountain and the stars. Link decided that it was a pleasant night for a stroll, and set off down the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another. Enjoy!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one also might be upsetting for readers, largely for the same reasons as last time.

Link much preferred to travel the woods with a clear sense of where he was and where he intended to go. The path he walked was familiar and, as far as the trails that cross-crossed the mountain went, fairly well travelled. It was the shortest and most direct to the nearest of the foothill villages, and thus favored by the occasional traveling merchant. The stars shone brightly through the foliage, and to the young knight the forest was no less visible than during the middle of the day.

Some time later, the fatigue Link had forgotten at dinner finally caught up with him, and his pace slowed. It was foolish for him to think he’d run all the way to Hyrule in a single night. In fact, he wasn’t sure how long his travels would take; most of the Keep’s maps that showed enough of the continent to include modern-day Hyrule featured kingdoms that had long since fallen and rivers that have changed course over the years, due to magical phenomena or natural processes. Unfortunately, he would have to rely on road markers and the locals for directions.

All of that could wait, however. Link knew where his most immediate destination lay: the inn’s bed near the bottom of the mountain. Link checked his wallet for the handful of rupees the knights had gifted him. It wasn’t much, but it would have to last until he found either Zelda or some work.

Finding work meant fighting monsters. Fighting monsters required supplies, something he had scarce little of at the moment. Any wounds he sustained beyond what his single red potion could cure would have to be either healed by a professional or suffered until they went away on their own.

Of course, cashing in on a Nekker or a Bokoblin contract would pose only a trivial risk of injury, but Zelda was still waiting for him. Urged on by the goddesses’ words, his plan was simple: find the princess first, earn a living second.

But even the best plans were subject to change, and when Link heard a woman’s scream past a bend in the path, he knew that Zelda would have to wait a little longer.

The young knight fumbled for his sword. The scabbard was currently fastened to his hip, but Link suspected that he would prefer it across his back. At least no monster could capitalize on his blunder; whatever stalked the forest this night was preoccupied with its prey.

A covered wagon knelt on the ground past the bend, the broken axle propped up by a girthy fallen log. Link heard another feminine scream and the sound of a hard object colliding with flesh, then a man’s lower moan of agony. The knight dashed around the caravan to see a man in a padded jacket holding a woman near the wagon’s wall, turned with his back to him. The young woman--no, a mere girl--still whimpered and appeared visibly terrified, although she displayed no obvious signs of injury.

Link froze in his tracks, still scanning for the monster. He saw an older man lying in the dirt, clutching his side. An ugly bruise was just starting to form on his cheek. Nearby, a small fire feebly burned, but even with the additional light Link saw neither hide nor scales of any creature.

“No!” the girl screamed once more, drawing Link’s attention. She struggled in the man’s grip, her simple dress slipping to reveal a small breast.

“Shut up, brat! It’s time you met a real man!”

Then, still undetected in the darkness, Link understood the scene before him. An uneasy feeling settled in the bottom of his gut, but the golden triangle on his wrist pulsed encouragingly. 

Link stepped into the bonfire’s pitiful radius of light, sword held at the ready.

“Well, it’s time you met one, too!” he shouted, though the words were not his own. The Triforce authored them and pushed them through his mouth before Link could even react.

Regardless, it got the man’s attention. He spun around, swore, and threw the girl to the ground. He grabbed a large axe from the ground and advanced towards the young knight, taking two steps and swinging his axe in an overhead strike that had been practiced for years while splitting logs into firewood.

But even if Link had the reflexes of dead wood, the blow would never land; it was clumsy and reckless. The broad axe head whistled through the air, but cleaved only the air where the knight formerly stood. Link sidestepped with ease and raised his sword, wishing to end the fight with a single stroke. Moonlight glinted off the knight’s blade as it flew through the air, and in a brief moment of adrenaline-fueled clarity, the swordsman admired the beauty of his art.

Link’s blow struck true, but it hardly had the intended effect of ending the fight. The blade lodged itself between the man’s neck and shoulder, splashing blood in all directions. The man staggered, but managed to keep his feet under him. Link pulled his sword out from the bleeding mass of torn muscles and splintered bone and watched as the axe struggled to rise once more. Link never gave the man a chance to retaliate.

The following blow wasn’t as pretty as the first, but it got the job done. Another crimson shower erupted from a gash across the man’s chest, and finally he fell, limp, to the ground. Link quickly scanned the area for additional threats. Upon finding none, he lowered his sword and closed the distance to the little girl.

She sat sobbing on the ground with her head in her hands. Link feared that she had been injured, judging by the copious red stains on her dress, but on closer inspection, he discovered that none of the blood belonged to her. The knight winced upon realizing the mess he had made.

“There, there. That man won’t hurt you.”

Link crouched down next to her, causing her to bolt upright. He cursed himself for inadvertently startling her, and extended his arm in a comforting gesture. She recoiled so harshly at his touch that her back hit the wagon behind her with a dull, painful thud.

“St-stay back, murderer!” she said between wails. 

It was Link’s turn to recoil. This was not playing out how he thought it would. He turned to look for the man who he assumed to be the girl’s father, but he was nowhere to be seen. Where had he run off to? Surely, he hadn’t thought he could make it to the village in time to get help--it was still two hours away, at the very least.

He shook his head and returned his attention to the girl, who was no longer wailing so much as gulping breaths of air between sobs.

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you,” Link tried again, setting aside his sword and raising both hands in a gesture of peace.

Neither his words nor his actions seemed to have any effect on the child. Her face was as pale as the moonlight that streamed down between the trees.

“Go away! No nice person has... monster eyes and… and kills people!” the girl said, gasping for breath. Suddenly, she lurched forward, spilling the contents of her dinner on Link’s green tunic.

Link stood up in shock, doing his best to remove the sick from his shirt without dirtying his gloves as well. The girl didn’t move at his feet, even when he gently prodded her with his foot. The word “monster” escaped her lips once more, but that was the only reaction Link could get from her. The knight started to panic until he noticed the gentle rise and fall of her slight chest, evidence that she was still breathing. From his pack Link removed his old winter blanket and draped it over the girl. It was a cold night, after all.

The knight retrieved his sword and sat down by the wagon, hopefully distant enough from the girl to avoid startling her when she woke but still within reach in case more trouble arose. He made every attempt to remain awake, but slowly felt himself drift towards the inevitable. Link wished that he could rely on the Dreamstealer tonic, but even if he possessed a bottle of the tincture he doubted it would keep him from repeating the night's events again and again behind shuttered eyes.

Even while awake, he couldn’t focus on anything else; his fatigued mind swirled with images of the fight. How could he have ever imagined that swordplay was beautiful? He used the sleeve of his tunic to wipe the blood off his blade. His stomach threatened to revolt just as the girl’s had. He struggled to comprehend why. He was the hero; he saved a girl who couldn’t have been more than a season into her womanhood from being raped. Why did he feel like shit?

Long ago, Rusl told Link that he would never forget the fight with his first true monster. As his dreams slowly claimed his consciousness, the young knight only then realized how right his mentor was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's another chapter. I realized that, after playing countless hours of Zelda, I can't remember a time when Link actually "kills" a person. I mean, even the Yiga bandits teleport away and don't go "poof" like the other baddies in BoTW.
> 
> So, another thing. I'm not quite sure if 500 hits is anything to be excited about (this is my first time posting really anything at all), but it seems like a sizeable number. Maybe it isn't. Maybe all but a fraction of the people click on my story, read the first sentence, then quit. I don't know. But if you are reading this: thank you!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Not all sexual violence looks like this.  
> Whatever the scenario, your experience is valid. Victims are never at fault.


	16. Chapter 16

When he awoke, the girl was nowhere to be seen. It was well past midday when Link reclaimed his blanket, took one last look around the ruined wagon, and, finding neither the girl nor her father, set off for town. His pace was slow, but not from fatigue. He was still exhausted, of course; the short rest he snatched by the wagon had ultimately failed to refresh him, and if anything, left him more exhausted than before. No, Link’s meandering pace was deliberate: he poked his head around every tree along the path, hoping for a glimpse of the girl. As the hours passed by and he still had no trace of her, he abandoned his search. Surely, he thought, it was foolish to look for her in the woods; he would see her back at town.

After his encounter with the lecherous bandit, the rest of his journey could only have been described as uneventful. For better or for worse, not another soul crossed his path until the mountain’s forest started to thin out. Link spotted the first of the town’s buildings by early evening: a single lone cottage, a ramshackle homestead in the middle of a barren field.

Perhaps it was fortunate that Link’s eyelids drooped and he didn’t hold himself with his usual warrior’s poise, for he was greeted with significantly less distrust than he anticipated. The peasants returning from a day spent working the fields hardly took note as he passed, sparing only a brief glance in his direction. Link couldn’t fault them; he could only assume that their labor was backbreaking, but that someone must clear the fields from the previous harvest. Past the fields and into the middle of town stood an inn, the first building he saw with more than a single room. There, he was charged what he assumed was a fair price, even despite the obvious stains from blood and bile on his tunic. His sheathed sword caught the innkeeper’s eye, although it didn’t dare linger while Link was watching. As he walked to his room, however, he could feel more than one set of eyes following his turned back, but the adventurer hadn’t the energy left to care. The second his body hit the bed, he fell asleep.

The night was not kind to Link. Twice he woke, drenched in sweat, with the taste of blood on his lips and his hand on the hilt of his sword. Like water’s escape through cupped hands, the dream resisted his efforts to recall it. Mere moments after waking, not a single detail remained discernible, although Link knew without a doubt the cause of his nightmares, and could guess the subject based on the previous night’s events. Rather than repeat the process a third time, Link got to his knees and opted to meditate till dawn.

Link failed even that. When the rooster greeted the morning, however, Link found himself slumped over on the floor, a small puddle of drool collecting under his gaping mouth. It wasn’t a very dignified way to greet the day, and he was sure that his back would spite him for his unorthodox sleeping position later (and if not his back, his knees), but he was grateful to have gotten any semblance of a decent night’s rest.

He picked himself up, got dressed, and got halfway to the door before a thought crossed his mind. He removed the sheath from his back. Leaving it behind, and hopefully the attention it brought as well, Link ventured down the hall to the common room.

As expected for such a small and remote town, the inn was host to scarce few patrons. An old man who seemed just as much a fixture of the establishment as the chandelier on the ceiling drank alone in a corner, the only other customer Link could see. Undeterred, Link approached the bar, placed a blue rupee on the counter, and ordered a glass of milk. The man tending the bar, a portly and bald fellow, squinted his eyes and made a face beyond the range of expressions typically used by the Keep’s denizens. Link wondered if it was his slit pupils or his choice of beverage that merited such a look.

Regardless, the barkeep picked up the rupee, and after bringing it to his eye for a brief inspection, retrieved a tall glass from a nearby shelf.

 _So far so good_ , Link thought, although he knew not to get his hopes up that the rest of the people he encountered would be as tolerant. The man who poured his beverage had undoubtedly served other knights and, judging by the look of things, couldn’t afford to turn down any patronage even if he wanted to.

With his milk before him, Link asked, “Have you seen any young girls pass through here, recently?”

The innkeeper's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and Link could hear the old man’s heart start beating in overtime.

“No. No, I have not.”

The reply was strained, but as far as Link could tell, not dishonest.

The knight realized that a bit of introduction might have averted the current standoff. He dropped the subject with a mumbled “nevermind” and took a large gulp from his milk, hoping to let a moment’s silence clear the air before asking another question. Perhaps it was best that they never met again, anyway. He doubted that the girl would be any more happy to see him now than she did earlier.

Finally, with the froth wiped from his upper lip, he tried again.

“So, what’s the best route to Hyrule from here?”

The inkeep snorted, momentarily distracted from polishing a mug with a rag so filthy that Link doubted the cup was getting any cleaner.

“Trust me,” he said, a faint chuckle on his lips, “you don’t want to go to Hyrule right now.”

Link’s brow furrowed. He wouldn’t abandon this topic as easily as the last. “And why is that?”

The innkeeper looked like he wanted to ask Link if he had been living under a rock at the edge of the world for the last dozen years, but he likely realized that Link had actually been living on a rock at the edge of the world for about that long. He reconsidered his choice of words.

“I heard the Gerudo were mobilizing an army, headed to Castle Town. They march north, and you’d be travelling south. That’s about the equivalent of a death sentence, if you’d ask me. I’d stay put, were I in your shoes, or better yet, hike it back up to the mountain where you’re from, knight.”

Link shook his head. That wasn’t the news he had exactly wanted to hear.

“Let’s say I’ve really got to get to Hyrule, empire be damned. What’s the quickest way?”

The bartender chuckled. “It’s your funeral, I suppose. You could take the south road all the way through the major cities, but that would take you halfway to Termina and back. If you’re really in a rush, start with the south road but break from it when you get to the river. Follow the water all the way to Castle Town; the city sits upon the river.”

Link nodded thanks, downed the last of his milk, and turned to head back to his room to gather his things. When he emerged, the barkeep offered him one last bit of advice.

“Hey, knight. Hyrule isn’t the kingdom it once was. The main roads are still safe enough, but I’d certainly watch my back if I was going to try any shortcuts. The soldiers that usually patrol the side roads are busy at the southern border, understand?”

Link offered his thanks once more, then left the inn. A full day of sunlight remained, but he still moved with haste, now more eager than ever to get to Hyrule. But other matters came first: for starters, he was sure that even the town’s residents, lacking his enhanced sense of smell, could have caught wind of him when he was still halfway up the mountain. He recalled a pond nearby the village from a previous trip, and decided that it would be a suitable place to wash his soiled tunic.

He found the place with little difficulty. The pond had swelled to overflow its banks with all the recent rainstorms, turning an adjacent small field into a marsh. Link set his pack, chainmail, and scabbard on a tree stump before sloshing into the water. He grimaced with every squelch; his boots had become waterlogged before he had even reached the pond’s previous boundary. Sighing, he bent down and set to work, wringing the sick off his shirt and trying not to remember with too much detail the previous night’s events.

Of course, that proved to be impossible. The terror on the girl’s face, the shine of blood on her dress, and on the ground, and coating his own murderous weapon--it was all too much. The wraith in the cave might have given him the courage to kill, but it hadn’t prepared him for what would come after.

When he was done, Link squelched back to his equipment and donned his armor and pack. His sword felt unusually heavy on his back. While its weight once felt comforting, he currently loathed the thought of having to use it.

The sun had made great progress in the eastern sky, nearly reaching its zenith by the time Link made it back in town and found the road that would lead him to Hyrule. The scene that awaited him almost made him wish that he didn’t.

Against a fence that ran parallel to the road lounged three men, all armed with sturdy wooden clubs. Link recognized one as the old man who had been drinking in the bar. Aside from him, Link hadn’t seen any of the villagers idle: the women, children, and men he had seen all worked the fields, pleading with the stony ground for every bushel of grains. And, save for gardening equipment, none had been armed.

Link thought about finding another way out of town and intercepting the road later, but although the men took no action, he was sure that they had already noticed him. If they meant business, he doubted they would let him get away that easily.

The knight started down the path wearily. He had actually made it farther than he expected before one of the men crossed his path and the other two blocked his retreat.

“And who might you fine gentlemen be?” Link asked, attempting an amicable tone and plastering his best attempt at a smile on his face. The task was considerably more difficult than anticipated, especially when the man in front of him opened his mouth. The breath the escaped carried the odor of alcohol and decay.

“We here are the welcoming committee.”

From behind him, Link heard a refrain of “uh-huh” and “that’s right”.

“It seems we have no business, then. I was just leaving.” Link stepped to the side.

The committee member in front of him paralleled his movement, denying passage. “But yous be coming back, won’tcha? So we’re doing what you’d call a pre… pre… uh…”

One of the men behind Link finished the man’s train of thought: “some preemptive greeting.”

The third man chimed in, “You false knights always bring ill fortune wherever you go! One of yous was in town when my wife miscarried!”

The man that Link could see nodded, swinging his club into his palm for emphasis.

“Right!” he said, “And last season, I saw one of you filth lurking about town near the same time my son got the chills! Did’ya cast your magicks on him, hoping to turn him into one of yous?”

Link’s hand twitched at the accusation. Every instinct urged it to the scabbard on his back; only concentrated willpower kept it in a fist at his side.

“I’m sorry for your misfortune. I will return to the keep by a different route. Please, step aside.”

The man standing in front of Link nearly threw his club down in a fit of rage. The knight could only assume that the two committee members behind him were just about as pleased with his apology.

“Like hell you are! About as sorry as the wolf for raiding the rabbit’s nest!” came a reply from behind, followed by another: “Sure, I’ll let ya come back through the western village, and poison one ‘o their children. Not a chance!”

Finally, the man blocking his way had calmed down enough to utter his response through gritted teeth, malice dripping with every word.

“Like hell I’ll let you by. Come on, boys!”

Link heard the whistle of displaced air before the committee had even finished speaking. It came from behind, and to the left. Link attempted a sidestep, but mistimed the evasion and gave the committee member enough time to do something the pendulum could not: adjust the trajectory of the blow.

The pain that wracked his shoulder almost overcame his resolve. His hand darted for his sword. It would be an easy fight--the men were drunk, ill-equipped, and inexperienced in combat.

But Link forced his hand away from the hilt of his blade, instead using his raised forearm to catch a blow aimed for his head. Another strike landed across his shoulders, crunching into the chainmail and the padding underneath. No bones had broken yet, but the knight knew it was only a matter of time before the welcoming committee inflicted a serious injury.

Dropping low, Link rolled to the side, escaping two of the three clubs but catching the third on his left shoulder. His stomach convulsed with the familiar tug of magic, and although it hadn’t been his intent, he became engulfed in green light. His desire to flee, rather than his deliberate will, had called forth the winds. His hand formed Farore’s sign: the pointer and middle finger curled, slightly bent with his others making a fist. He only hoped this accidental invocation would inflict no serious injury on his attackers, which would only give them another reason to hate him and his kind.

Link experienced an odd pull in his gut, and without warning the ground shifted beneath his feet at dizzying speeds. His hand barely managed to catch his hat as it flew off his head, swept off by the buffeting winds. Link blinked and it was over. The world was once again still, although Link found himself standing a dozen meters down the road. Looking back, he noticed that the welcoming committee had been knocked down and surprised, but more or less unhurt. Link turned and set off down the path at a brisk pace, not entirely confident that he wouldn’t be followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't people so fun? You know, the kind who let ignorance and hatred guide their intentions, however noble they might otherwise have been?


	17. Chapter 17

Noon gradually gave way to evening, evening to night, and finally, night to a calm dawn. Only then did Link relax, content that his fears of being tailed were unfounded. The road he followed still hadn’t met the river the innkeeper had described, so the knight was left with little recourse except to continue plodding forward. Although he knew he had no hope of affording one, he wished that he owned a horse. The only other traveler he encountered, a lone merchant, reclined on the back of his horse-drawn wagon. Even though his new boots fit nearly perfectly, his ankles started to ache.

Finally, by midmorning, a shady tree tempted Link to take a break. He dug the biscuits Pipit gave him from his pack and downed a couple. Eventually, the knight knew that he would need to get more than a quick break and actually sleep. He downed the last of the tepid water in his waterskin before hitting the road once more.

Footfall after footfall scraped the road with every step. Link struggled to keep his fatigued eyes open, the warmth from the midday sun in no way helping him stay awake. The trees that lined the roads back towards the mountains had long since given way to open fields and gently rolling hills, but Link had hardly noticed. Only when the path veered west and a glistening blue river stretched out in front of him did the goddess’ chosen finally realize that he had found what he was looking for.

It was then that Link realized he was finally too exhausted to continue his travels. A lone willow by the river would make a good enough spot to catch some rest. It was better here, by the main road, than in the wilderness further along the river, Link decided. Drowners and octorocks posed a definite threat to the unweary traveller, and that went double for an unconscious one. The water seemed clear, the air tasted fresh, and Link observed no suspicious ripples on the water’s surface or unusual leafy vegetation adrift in the current. Of course, Link had only read about descriptions of drowners, and had never seen the blue, aquatic octorocks. Only their green cousins inhabited the woodlands where he dwelled. In fact, Link realized with a start that he had never been this far from the Keep before. The mountain he called home was still distinctly visible behind him, but it appeared much smaller from such a distance.

But even if this unfamiliar environment seemed safe, Link didn’t put all his faith in his senses. His unsheathed sword rested across his lap as he leaned back against the tree, as much a deterrent to humans as it was defense against whatever would seek to disturb him.

As he drifted off to sleep, Link wondered if this would be how the next couple of weeks would go, and beyond that, the next couple of years, decades hopefully, until a monster proved to be more than his match. Catching just enough rest at inns and under trees to appease his aching feet and keep his body and mind alert. Perhaps his pace would be less urgent once his business with princesses and goddesses finished. Either way, it was little wonder that so many of his fellow knights chose to winter in the Keep. Link had been on the path for just a couple of days, and it was already proving to be exhausting.

And painful, he thought, shifting his body so that his other shoulder rested against the tree. He spared no time to check, but he was sure to have some nasty bruises by the time he found this princess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he awoke, Link followed the trail from dawn till dusk, and then some more. The river meandered south at times, east at others. Gradually, the landscape changed again as the mountain he called home became harder to detect behind him. Small shrubs and unusually leafless trees became more prevalent on the grassy hills. The temperature was no less cold at night than on the mountain, however, and Link was grateful to be moving then, instead of standing still.

Link left the banks of the river when danger presented itself, whether a particularly murky marsh obstructed his path or an octorok lazily floated along the current. To avoid swampfoot and rocky missiles, the knight made appropriate detours, although he was always careful to never let the river leave his sight. Unlike the woods in which he was accustomed, where the trees were each unique and every stone could be recognized from another on the trail, every hill looked identical to those around it. 

Some time later, a Zora warship floated past. Unsure of the danger the vessel and her crew posed, Link hid behind some shrubbery until the threat had passed. A drunk knight once spun a tale to the enraptured trainees about a year spent aboard one such vessel during a conflict many years since resolved. The knight claimed to have been pressed into service against his will, but while Link doubted the Zora would sink to such a level, even in war, he decided not to take any chances.

After it had passed out of eyesight and Link disentangled himself from his rather prickly hiding place, Link realized that he could have requested assistance from the vessel. It was traveling the same direction that he walked, undoubtedly heading towards Castle Town and the numerous ports there. He doubted he could’ve convinced the crew to drop anchor for him even if he somehow managed to communicate the nature of his quest from the banks of the river, but hitching a ride would have shaved days, if not weeks, from his travels.

Finally, after days spent doing little else but sleeping and placing one foot in front of the other, Link felt that he was getting close to his destination. In the distance, Hyrule Castle’s tallest spires poked into view amidst the clouds, and nearby fields started showing signs of recent cultivation. When Link spotted a road that ran alongside the river, he jumped at the opportunity to once again walk along unobstructed, level ground. Anything would be better than these rocky banks; he had fished what he swore was the same pebble from his boot for the third time that day, and would be damned before he would have to do it again.

Holes in the cobbled road were plenty in number, and between virtually every two adjacent stones grew a stubborn weed. The road was poorly maintained, but that didn’t deter a great number of travelers from using it. In just half an hour of walking, Link passed two wagons on their way from Castle Town, and more than a dozen others walking alongside animals carrying their possessions. All of the travelers--and even some of their beastly companions--wore the same expression on their faces: worry. Link had little desire to strike up a conversation with any of them, and kept his head down while they passed. 

The knight errant failed to recall how many hours he had been walking since he last slept, but it didn’t matter. Although he knew it would still be another day before he stood outside the gates of Castle Town, he lengthened his strides. Then he saw the sign posted ahead of him. If he hadn’t been eager to get a move on, he certainly was now. 

The sign read, “Inn Ahead”. Seeing the castle had been great for his morale, but Link hadn’t spent the night in an actual bed since his stop at the foothill villages and hadn’t eaten anything besides the stale biscuits and a couple of fish since then, either. He practically ran in the direction the sign pointed, his fatigue temporarily forgotten.

The Capricious Kingfisher was everything that the foothill villages hadn’t been. While the latter was rarely frequented by travelers, the former was bursting at the seams with frenetic activity. And while the last inn Link visited had been old but well-kept, Link realized that his metaphorical assessment wasn’t so far from the truth: the building down the road looked new but was already showing signs of damage to its structural integrity. Seeing how one patron used a second-story window as an improvised dorway, Link wasn’t surprised.

From across the road, Link could already hear music spilling from the open windows and out the front door that was never still for long. Another two covered wagons took shelter next to the building, and enough horses to form a whole cavalry division stood tethered in the stables. Yet since Link had stepped onto the road, he hadn’t seen any traffic heading towards the castle; everyone, it seemed, had business up north. 

A lone rider on horseback nearly trampled Link underfoot, but instead of issuing an apology, swore nastily about vagrants and bandits. The knight was grateful that he had kept his head down and that the man hadn’t seen his eyes.

After the horse and rider had passed, however, Link felt his cheeks redden. Would he really rather be labeled a bandit--like the man he encountered on the mountain--than by his actual title, a knight?

“...monster!”

Link’s eyes darted around, but they couldn’t seem to focus. It took him a moment to recognize the voice, but when he did, his head sunk even lower. It was the girl from the woods, or more accurately, now the girl in his head. Blood coated her dress and glinted in the moonlight and--

“Hey, stranger. You look like you could use a drink.”

An older and somewhat portly woman poked her head out of the window. Link hadn’t realized that he had made it all the way to the inn and was now standing only a meter from the doorway.

It took Link a moment to find his voice. His throat was unusually dry.

“Yeah. Sounds good,” he said, and entered the fray.

As the knight walked in, two short men staggered out. Although the details of their conversation were vague, they seemed to be debating, with drunken pseudo-profundity, their directions.

“No, no, no. That's the thing. The closer we are to danger, the farther we are from harm!”

The other snorted and shook his head. “You just want to see some of those Gerudo warriors up close, admit it! I’ll not take another step south until this bloody war’s over.”

Link had never seen so many people in one place. Whole families occupied tables meant for two, and anything from bedrolls standing on end to empty barrels of mead served as improvised seats. Link spotted an empty spot at the bar and made a beeline for it.

None of the inn’s patrons paid any heed to the cat-eyed monster slayer, although to be fair he was certainly looking to avoid attention. Link nestled himself into the bar’s corner seat as the proprietor, apparently the lady that had greeted him earlier, prepared his drink.

“You got a name, kid?” she asked with her back turned.

It took the knight a moment to realize that she was talking to him. He hadn’t been paying attention. The crowd was unsettling; never before had Link seen so many people in one place. The tightness in his throat made him doubt whether or not he’d be able to drink anything at all. 

“Uhh… yeah. It’s Link.”

It was subtle, but the barkeeper paused for just a second when Link spoke.

“Link, right? Interesting… interesting name.”

The knight didn’t exactly agree, but he felt it would be impolite to refuse. He shrugged.

Although Link decided that he’d force himself to down whatever she placed before him, he was pleasantly surprised when that beverage turned out to be a tall glass of milk. His delight must have been apparent on his face, for the barkeep offered him a wink before dashing off with an armful of mugs for a waiting table. 

The milk was fresh and frothy. Link hadn’t meant to down the glass in a single gulp, but when he returned his glass to the table, he noted with disappointment that only a drop remained.

“You know, Link, it isn’t right for you to drink alone, not when there’s so many people around who might love to hear a couple of your stories. Oh, don’t give me that look. I know you’ve got a couple. I bet that young man over there would love to hear them.”

The barkeeper had returned, the telepathic sense associated with her job somehow alerting her to Link’s empty glass.

Link glanced over to the man in question. He didn’t look like much: he was scrawny and at least an inch or two shorter than Link, though about his age. He, too, was sitting alone, though the bespectacled man had a sizable stack of books for company. 

Link turned back to the bar to respectfully decline and inquire about renting a room for the night, but the barkeep, surprisingly light on her feet, had vanished. Link scanned the crowded room and--of course-- found her by the bookworm. Great.

And so he sat, determined to catch the undoubtedly busy barkeep the next time she drew from the tap or retrieved one of the dozens of mugs from the cabinets behind the bar, but despite his best efforts, she nimbly evaded his summons. Ten minutes had passed before Link realized she was doing it on purpose. Finally, he gave in and walked stiffly to the table where the young man sat reading a dusty leather-bound tome. Not much of his face was visible behind the hefty book, and certainly not his eyes--which was why Link jumped when the stranger spoke the second the knight settled into his chair.

“All hail the emperor of the setting sun.”

Link blinked and looked around for the target of this strange greeting, entirely convinced that the bookworm hadn’t addressed him. But unless the strange man made a habit out of speaking to the backs of other patrons, themselves engaged in boisterous conversation, he was indeed speaking to Link.

The knight’s suspicions were confirmed when the man spoke again, louder as to be heard over the tavern’s din. Phrased as a question, he asked once more:

“All hail the emperor of the rising sun…?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Link asked, quickly becoming frustrated with everyone in this damned tavern. Were all Hylians so odd, or was Link that out of touch with the mannerisms of the continent?

The man’s nose peeked over the top of the book and his eyes drilled into Link’s.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, quickly diverting his gaze. “I was puzzling through a riddle in this book. I think the answer is, ‘who sits on a throne of slaves’, but I guess that doesn’t matter now, does it? Forgive me.”

With that, the man snapped close his book and swept it and the others into a leather bag.

“Have a pleasant evening, sir knight.”

Link turned and watched the man disappear up the stairs. The barkeep suddenly materialized at the knight’s side.

“Looks like he wasn’t willing to talk, after all. Interesting. Anyway, you must be exhausted, traveler. May I interest you in a room for the night?”

Link didn’t mind if his features betrayed his irritation.

“Yes. Thank you. How much?” he asked, already digging into his pocket for the sum.

“Two blue, and a third for the milk. The room’s the third up the stairs, on the left. Have a pleasant evening.”

Her voice carried an unusual inflection, but Link passed it off as irritation not unlike his own. He was simply too tired to care.

Link paid and made his way to his room. The stairs creaked a discordant symphony as he dragged his feet laboriously up every step. Link suspected that, even with all the noise downstairs, he’d be able to hear every passerby retire to their room. Great. As if sleeping wasn’t going to already be hard enough.

His room was dark, perhaps the only one lacking a window in the inn. This wasn’t particularly troublesome for the knight, who could see just fine from the light bleeding from the cracks in the floor. Still, when Link noticed a candle resting in a puddle of its own wax on the nightstand, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to test his mettle. It took three attempts, but the candlewick (and luckily nothing else) caught fire after the final snap.

Pleased with his successful casting, Link shrugged off his backpack and scabbard, then turned to close the door. He had only just spun around when, from the corner of his eye, an umbral figure split from the darkness. It moved faster than Link could react, intercepting the knight mid-step and tackling him to the ground.

Link’s head hit the ground hard enough to throw dazzling stars across his vision. An elbow--or perhaps a knee--embedded itself in the knight’s gut; winded and dizzy, his clumsy punch struck nothing but thin air. He attempted to roll to the side, but his assailant only took the opportunity to pin one of Link’s arms beneath him.

The knight’s legs thrashed the empty space around them in a vain attempt to dislodge the unrelenting attacker, but it was all for naught. The ambusher was scrawny, but obviously had experience. The slim figure maneuvered onto Link’s midsection and forced him to his back, keeping just enough pressure on each appendage to squash any hope of resistance. 

Before another moment had passed, a knife glinted in the candle’s feeble light on its way to Link’s throat. Even in his stupor, the knight was impressed at the speed in which the weapon left its sheath. He blinked, and there it was. Powerless, he could only wince as the cool metal met his skin. The blade was sharper than a razor. If the knight so much as swallowed, he’d have a cut more nasty than any sustained while shaving, and if his assailant so desired, the captive knight would have a second smile in the bat of an eye.

The stars receded from Link’s vision at the same rate they crawled across the night sky. He recognized the figure sitting atop him as the bespectacled man from before.

Thoughts swirled around the knight’s head as he slowly relaxed his body, attempting to signal to his attacker that using the knife wouldn’t be necessary. He wasn’t dead, the best sign he could hope for in his current position. Not yet, anyway. So what was the belligerent bookworm waiting for?

The answer came not a heartbeat later.

The floors creaked as someone drew near the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are like me, you're *dying* to have all of our heroes meet up. We're getting closer.
> 
> I'd love to hear what you guys think of the story so far, or any thoughts or predictions of what will happen next. We're going to take a break from Link next chapter, and get one last look at the Twilight realm for a little while...


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little violent. If you aren't too into that, or blood, maybe stop reading after the line of tildes (~~~) .

The Usurper’s impatience could be heard from across the castle. It sounded like the tapping of a metal-shod boot on the throne room’s floor, but the king’s servants knew the noise was more sinister than that. When time itself refused to acquiesce to the new ruler’s demands, everyone in the castle knew that the unsteady pulse was more akin to an executioner’s reading of last rites for any who dared disturb the new king. This likeness already had been proven more than once.

“How go the preparations?” the Twilit Usurper asked, attempting with little success to imitate the mannerism of the man who had asked him the same question only mere hours prior. Then, however, it had been Zant at the foot of a throne.

The impression might have been unintentionally comedic, but even shrouded by his mask, the general didn’t dare let the corners of his mouth tighten into a smile. His own promotion had happened much too recently for him to make the same mistake as his predecessor.

“On time, sir. We--”

“Your Excellency.” The king’s voice rang throughout the room with the hint of an edge.

“Right, sir. I mean your Excellency, sir.”

The general flinched, expecting corporal punishment when the king raised his fist, but it never came. Zant nonchalantly inspected the four remaining nails on his hand.

“Right. The infiltration team’s progress has been expedited, as per request. They will be ready momentarily. The rest of the army--”

Zant clapped his hands together and proceeded to shoo the general out of the room.

“Thank you, that will be all. You are dismissed. DISMISSED!” Zant roared, once again trying to mimic his master.

Failing that, he added, “But do come back when the troops are ready. Oh, and bring me something to throw. I’d like to see if my new pet knows how to play fetch.”

The general needed no additional encouragement to flee the throne room. He nodded and turned on his heel, vanishing behind the grand double doors in an instant.

…………

A whole twelve seconds passed before Zant decided that, once again, he was bored. Midna counted each second, and while twelve was still a few shy of his record, he had surpassed her expectations. He usually lasted fewer than ten, but perhaps his irritation served to occupy his time for an extended duration.

After the twelve blissful seconds, Midna felt her inevitable summons toward the throne. Zant tugged sharply on the leather cord around her neck which had long since rubbed her skin raw during her attempts to resist. She now allowed herself to be dragged through the air with only abrasions and bruises to show of her previous resistance.

“Entertain me, pet,” Zant ordered.

Midna knew that a lazy somersault wouldn’t please him, which was exactly why she chose to do one. Deliberately listlessly, she twirled through the air, pudgy limbs splayed and features etched in what she considered her least interesting expression.

She knew it was coming and had braced for it, but she still couldn’t avoid banging her knee on the foot of the throne when Zant tugged her leash with unusual ferocity.

“You disappoint me, Midna. But no matter. Very soon, I will have a more interesting plaything.”

As if on cue, another Twili entered the room and bowed low before the throne.

“We’re ready, sir.”

Zant was too excited to even bother reprimanding the soldier’s disrespectful address. He leapt to his feet with a clap of his hands, then untied Midna’s tether from the throne before wrapping it twice around his wrist.

Smiling wickedly, he turned to the princess. “Wouldn’t want you getting into any trouble while I’m gone, would I? No, dear imp, you’ll be coming with me.”

Midna crossed her arms and pouted, her default reaction to most things the Usurper said, though nonetheless she floated after him. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice, anyway. She hadn’t finished chewing through the cord that ensnared her, though she worried that her progress was starting to become noticeable. The only benefit of her new form, it seemed, was the sharp teeth that now lined her gums.

The princess once again cursed the Usurper. Never before had she felt so helpless! Prior to this damnable revolution, even if her status as royalty didn’t get her what she wanted, a bit of magic or the well-timed application of an open palm to someone’s face at high velocity would usually achieve what her words could not. And she was proficient with words, magic, and _especially_ slapping people. But now, Midna lacked all her previous recourses; her royal title meant nothing, her magic was reduced to mere cantrips in comparison to her former prowess, and she caused the Usurper to erupt in a fit of laughter the first (and only) time she struck him. To top it all off, Zant grew tired of hearing her talk and once again subjected her to magical silence.

Zant, of course, delighted in Midna’s lament. The fact that she was more or less round, could hover several feet off the ground, and weighed no more than a couple of pounds gave him no end of clever ideas involving hoops and nets. The results had been painful, but the lasting wounds were to her pride.

Zant set off briskly, giving the cord a vicious tug with every step. Despite his hurry, the king couldn’t resist parading Midna around the castle on a leash. He took the opportunity to show the princess his attempts of redecoration. Midna smirked at the numerous statues, all likenesses of Zant, that appeared every ten feet down the hallways, but she couldn’t help but feel they were poor stand-ins for the previous life and energy that coursed through the castle’s halls. Under her father’s tenure, the castle just hadn’t felt so empty.

Finally, they reached the royal gardens, where two lines of soldiers stood at attention, sabers held aloft. The salute was traditionally reserved for the royal bloodline, but Midna was not naïve enough to pretend they saluted her.

Zant strutted up and down the two dozen assembled soldiers. These were his kingdom’s finest, trained in the art of stealth, infiltration, and sabotage. He inspected each man, even stopping to straighten a soldier’s helmet that really didn’t need adjustment while his mind wandered, imagining how well he’d look in his own set of military garb. The leather of their pauldrons, dyed a shade darker than the sky over the Twili kingdom would ever be, complemented perfectly their intricate, glowing warpaint.

Finally content with the appearance of his troops, he turned to the stone disc that had rested in the palace courtyard for centuries. The object was sacred to the Twili people, a reminder of their heritage and the cost of their greed. But since their exodus, it remained inert. The people lacked the magic to operate it, later research concluded. Only the power of the golden goddesses of old could once again set the ancient machinery in motion, and none of the Twili had seen that power in eons.

None except Zant, that is. When the Usurper’s gloved hand pressed against the disc, an unfamiliar radiance spread from the sorcerer to the artifact. Gears that had rested dormant for centuries shuddered and started to rotate. Even the Usurper was taken aback by the magic he conjured, and try as he might, he could not forget that these powers were not entirely his own.

All eyes found themselves drawn to the spinning portal, giving the impression that the eyes’ owners should soon follow. Ring after ring separated and drew into the Mirror’s depth, spiraling into infinity. Between them stretched the very fabric of reality, black as pitch. After another moment’s delay, the portal stabilized and spilled harsh light into the courtyard. This luminance far outshone any light source native to the Twilight realm; even the sols paled in comparison. Midna’s skin started to tingle, but the soldiers seemed to fare much worse. One fell over in a fit of convulsions, and several others let out groans of discomfort.

Zant, though struggling himself, refused to accept any further delays. After the soldiers adjusted to the Mirror’s brilliance, they marched, two-by-two, into the portal at their king’s behest. Whatever awaited them on the other side could be no worse than Zant’s punishment for disobedience, after all.

When all the soldiers vanished through the portal, Zant turned to the imp, who had floated as far from the portal as her tether allowed. She gaped at the swirling portal, her people’s most ancient and dangerous artifact. Dread travelled the short distance down her spine and her hands began to shake. Her mouth moved, though she was unable to verbalize her fear. Just enough of Zant’s magic remained to keep her silent, though she felt his hold over her weaken when the portal activated.

“What is it, princess?” Zant asked, supremely self-satisfied. “Am I so powerful that you’ve no words left?”

His arrogance set something off in the little imp, and the last of his mystic influence over her vanished.

“How dare you?” she screamed, darting forward till she was inches from Zant’s smile that almost wouldn’t fit through the portal.

“You’re a puppet, and more than that, a fool! You knew you’d never be a king by your own right, so you made a deal with a demon for help. Pathetic! You’ve sold your own people out so that you can pretend to play king and go fight in wars like a real ruler, but you’ll never be one, you understand? We turned our backs on the light world, and for good reason. Or have you forgotten how we got here in the first place?”

Midna’s lungs were considerably smaller than she was used to, and she found herself short for breath. Between gulps of air, she continued her tirade, not any bit less strident than before.

“Now, our false king runs errands for a real emperor! Congratulations! Did your master give you a pat on the back and tell you that you’re a good little lapdog?”

Zant stared wide-eyed at the imp. Her chest heaved as she tried to get all the air she could, yet her smirk remained fixed on her face.

The Usurper King’s slap sent Midna flying to the end of her rope, which snapped taunt and abruptly jerked her back. After righting herself midair, she let herself sink to the ground and landed on all fours. But Zant wasn’t done. He could feel a good tantrum coming on. He grabbed a fistful of the imp’s hair and hoisted her up to his face, ignoring the claws scratching against his hand and yelps of protest.

“You won’t. Ever. Speak. To me. Like that. Again. Do you understand me?” he asked, grinding his teeth with every word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blood dripped from the Mirror’s stone rim, staining the ground below it a dark crimson. For a creature of such diminutive stature, Midna sure had a lot of it.

It was Zant’s turn to be out of breath. He stood panting by the portal, not quite sure what to do with his stained hands. He certainly didn’t want to dirty his robes.

He turned to look at the princess lying at the foot of the portal. He gave her a final, half-hearted kick before scooping up her limp form and carrying her through the portal. She didn’t protest. She had put up quite the fight, of course, before she lost consciousness. But Zant was having too much fun at that point to stop.

He felt several weak heartbeats from the bloody mass in his hands before the portal dematerialized and then reassembled them in a world all but forgotten by the Twili people.

As much as he hated to admit it, Midna had been right about one thing. Zant did have an errand to run. The king squinted and turned towards a setting sun that was all but obscured by gathering storm clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's just sleeping.
> 
> So, the good news is there's a chapter update (Yay!) but the bad news is I've ran out of my supply of pre-typed and edited chapters that I can just upload whenever. This means future updates will probably be a bit slower till I can catch a breather this semester. College sucks, by the way.
> 
> Anyway, I would love to hear what you guys think about the story so far, or where you think it will go next.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I goofed. I was halfway through editing this chapter when I realized that I needed Link to have revealed his name earlier. New readers don't have to worry about anything, but if you read chapter 17 before I went and fixed my mistake and are wondering why they suddenly know Link's name, well... now you know.

“Talk, imperial scum! Tell us what I want to hear and maybe I won’t have to mop the floors of your blood.”

Link remained silent, waiting as the heavy footsteps grew louder and louder before stopping just beyond the ajar doorway. Although he faced away from the door, and didn’t dare twist his neck to look, he could imagine the welcome intruder poking their neck around the doorway. The captive grunted, drawing attention to his position on the floor. This was his chance!

Without a word, the stranger took two steps into the room and closed the door. Link’s heart sunk.

“You’re in trouble now,” the man said, removed the knife from Link’s throat, and got off Link’s chest. The knight didn’t have a chance to react, however; before he could move an inch, he heard the tell-tale sign of another threat. The metallic click of a crossbow winding into position pierced the noise from the unaware crowd below. While he wasn’t certain where, exactly, the bolt pointed, Link figured he’d rather not find out.

“Good work, Shad. Got him to squeal, yet?”

The knight deduced that the stranger was none other than the barkeeper from the sound of her voice. It wasn’t as sweet as before; now it contained a venom that Link had only heard once before, when one of the other trainees accidentally woke a very hungover Eagus.

Link cursed his social ineptitude under his breath. Of course she was in on it… whatever “it” was. The knight was still confused, and not just from the growing bump on his head from when he hit the floor.

“Nothing, Telma. Not yet, anyway,” Shad, the bookworm, said.

Link cleared his throat, grateful that it was--so far--still intact.

“Look, guys, I think there’s been some sort of mistake.”

Shad responded with a dry chuckle. His back was turned, and he was picking through the few contents of Link’s pack lying on the bed. He must not have found what he was looking for, for he returned to Link’s side and once again held the blade up to the knight’s neck.

“Cut the crap, or I cut you. What did they pay you? Were a handful of exotic women all it took to convince you to betray your people?”

Telma spoke next, walking around Link to get a closer look at the captive. The crossbow in her hands didn’t stray from Link’s temple.

“Shad, look at his eyes. He’s one of those Vipers.”

The crowd downstairs was not so loud that Link couldn’t hear the man gulp.

“So they really did set up a school down south. Damn. I was really hoping that Auru was wrong about that one.”

The knight tried again.

“Look. I haven’t been paid anything. I can count the number of women I’ve talked to on two hands, and what the hell does any of this have to do with snakes?”

Shad glanced at the bartender. Telma shook her head. The candle on the bedside table was casting long shadows throughout the room, but Link could have sworn that he saw her finger inch closer towards the trigger.

“Must I spell it out for you? We know you’re a spy. You arrive the day after our scout should have, using her name and dressing just like her, and you expect us not to notice?”

Sweat began to gather on the knight’s brow, and when he spoke, his voice was uneven and sounded odd in his throat.

“I don’t know you people. I never met your scout! My name really is Link, and I got this outfit from a fairy, alright?”

It was the truth, but in hindsight mentioning the fairy might not have been the most tactful decision. Neither of his captors looked amused.

“Sure, and I’m Ganondorf Fucking Dragmire himself.”

Shad leaned back and adjusted his glasses, all the while glaring at the knight lying on the floor. Finally he turned to his partner.

“Tel, let’s just get this over with and tell the princess there was an accident. For Linkle’s sake.”

“You guys are making a mistake. Please, I’ve got to get to Zelda!”

A droplet of sweat fell from Link’s brow onto the back of his gloved hand, which twitched in response. This action drew the eyes of both Telma and Shad, but to his surprise he wasn’t immediately skewered between the ears.

Instead, Shad gasped and scampered back, pulling a small leather-bound tome from his pocket and leafing through it. More than once Link heard a page rip, and after a moment, the scholar threw the book down in frustration and pulled another from a different pocket. This one received similar treatment.

It was Telma’s turn to look baffled, though her weapon hadn’t lowered an inch. Her eyes drilled into Link’s, but every now and then she’d let her gaze dip below Link’s eyes or glance at her companion. Obviously, Shad’s erratic display wasn’t a typical feature of their interrogations. Link’s heart hadn’t yet decided if this was to his advantage or not, so it kept up its frantic pace--frantic, anyway, for a mutant whose resting rate fell well below the average Hylian’s.

Finally, Link noticed that the faint candle wasn’t the only source of light in the room.

Shad dropped down to the floor and grabbed Link’s arm by the wrist, lifting his hand for closer inspection.

His companion opened her mouth to speak, but in that instant the scholar dropped Link’s arm and asked, “Telma, do you recall the legends of the Hero of Time?”

Telma shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Is now really the time for fairy tales?”

Shad’s brow furrowed behind his oversized spectacles, and Link thought that the scholar looked mildly offended.

“It’s not simply a fairy tale. It’s history. And you know what they say: ‘if you don’t know it”... Well, yeah. It’s repeating.”

Telma blinked. Twice. Only then did the crossbow’s sights sink to the floor. The knight exhaled heavily. He hadn’t even noticed that he had been holding his breath.

“So you aren’t a spy, then?” the barkeeper asked bluntly.

While he was grateful that he wasn’t going to be eviscerated, at least imminently, Link was nonetheless near wit’s end with these people. Raising both hands in front of him, he slowly got to his feet and plopped himself down on the bed. His head swam from a powerful cocktail of fear, fatigue, and adrenaline, but he’d be damned if he would have pointy objects trained for that long without getting a decent explanation and an apology.

“No. No, I’m not. What’s the big deal, anyway? Aren’t the Gerudo still on the other side of Hyrule… and currently not at war?”

Telma released a sigh proportionate to her stature--which was to say, large--and Shad chuckled nervously.

“No fighting yet, but… well, peace talks didn’t go well. Ganondorf stormed out of the castle, and his army has been sitting on their side of the border ever since.”

“Alright, I get it. But why are you people ambushing travelers in their own rooms, on this side of the kingdom?”

Telma muttered, “that’s exactly what a spy would say,” but her weapon remained pointing at the floor. This probably wasn’t safe for the hapless customers still drinking below, but that was well beyond Link’s concern at the moment.

Shad leaned against the opposite wall. He was scribbling something into one of his books, and didn’t stop even when he lifted his head to give a brief explanation.

“We’re with the Hyrulean Resistance,” he said. “Green stripe commandos, special forces, espionage, you know it. We’re stationed here to help refugees fleeing the country, and investigate a potential Bulblin uprising.”

Link’s raised eyebrow didn’t go unnoticed. Telma added, “Ganondorf allegedly promised to carve King Bulblin a kingdom out of the Northern Realms in return for his support. This checks out, as we’ve seen increased reports of raiding parties throughout the countryside and in the neighboring kingdoms.”

Telma coughed. “But that’s all we should probably tell you, anyway. Even if you are one of the goddess’ chosen, some details are better left as secrets of the state.”

Rusl had always warned Link to avoid politics, and with a headache starting to build behind his temple, the knight suspected that he knew why. It was enough of an answer, so he nodded his agreement.

Shad, however, was not content. The man slammed shut his book and stored the pencil behind his ear.

“So, you’ve got to get to Castle Town, then?” he asked, although judging by his tone it was less of a question and more of a fact.

Link nodded. More immediately, however, he needed the two agents to leave him alone so he could sleep.

“Yeah, that was the plan, anyway. Are you guys going to let me get some sleep so I don’t pass out on the road?”

“Sorry, sweetie,” she said, the edge absent from her voice.

Shad looked like he was about to protest, but Telma sent him a withering look that defied Link’s attempts at translation. The young scholar’s shoulders slumped, and he went and picked up the book he had thrown earlier. Telma made her way towards the door, and Shad followed her out. He turned before closing the door behind him, and scratched the back of his head.

“Uh… sorry about all this, Link. If we had known you were sent by the goddesses, we wouldn’t have had to resort to all this cloak and dagger business.”

The knight grunted in response and was already half asleep by the time the door clicked shut, but for hours thereafter he couldn’t quite nod off. He was exhausted, but he had too many questions and too few answers to fall asleep. This, he decided, happened with frustrating frequency. The noise from downstairs, while slightly subdued this late into the evening, didn’t help him in the slightest.

It was a startling series of events--from guest to captive to ally--and at every turn, Link felt completely blindsided. There was just too much he didn’t know. When he finally did find Zelda, he would have to ask her to fill him in on… well, everything. No doubt, he’d make her start with the war, explaining current events, but perhaps, if there was time, he could ask for a crash course on social matters. Farore knew, he needed one.

But then what? The goddess had only instructed him to find the princess. Was he to serve as a soldier in this war? Or some glorified bodyguard? Neither option was particularly attractive.

Just an hour before the sun would rise, Link finally drifted off. His dreams were an incoherent tangle of long shadows and clouds, and when he woke a layer of sweat coated his body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The inn was just as busy in the morning as it was at night, though a different energy resonated from the early risers than the night crowd. Real estate around the tables was no less scarce, but people seemed much more eager to break their fast and depart than last evening, where the bellowing conversations had stretched on for hours with cease.

Link settled himself down in the same place as the night before, and was once again pleasantly surprised by the rotund barkeeper, who apparently had already prepared him a mug and handed it to him before he opened his mouth to ask.

It was milk… but it wasn’t just milk, the knight realized after his first sip. It smelled a bit like the contents Rusl’s canteen, though the cream helped mask the flavor. All in all, it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Figured you could use a little pick-me-up after last knight,” the barkeeper said with a wink, and sure enough, Link felt a pleasant warmth spread through his body. “You can think of it as my apology. It’s on the house, sweetie.”

Link wasn’t going to argue. Not then, and not when a plate of strange flat biscuits clattered in front of him. Shad squeezed into a seat beside him, already holding one of the strange discs in his mouth.

Link was a bit more hesitant with these, which Shad called “blini” after finishing several, but his fears were completely unfounded. It didn’t take long for the pair to clear the plate, nor the second one that Telma brought them after that.

Breakfast did much to make up for the previous night’s shortcomings, but Link was ready to leave. He already had his sword and his pack with him, accompanied by a feeling of dread that had persisted since he woke. Shad wanted to ask Link about the goddess he had seen and the triangle on his wrist and a hundred other questions, but Link reminded the excited scholar of his mission.

 _Colin would get along great with this guy_ , the knight thought. Melancholy set over him as he recalled the mountain he considered home.

The outside air was brisk, but Link was thankful that at least he would have no trouble staying awake. A breeze carried his thoughts of the Keep away like the discarded leaves of fall, and all his thoughts turned towards completing his quest. He faced west, where the great Hyrule Castle waited, and set off down the trail. The air tasted of salt, no doubt by wind from the bay, carried by dark grey clouds over the far-off water. Despite the obstinate headwind, Link made haste towards the castle that grew closer with every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linkle isn't just female Link! She's got... crossbows. And stuff. Totally different.
> 
> Also, a map would probably be helpful, but... well, I'm pretty bad with art. Trust me, any map I produce would probably lead to more confusion than whatever idea you had in your head. In summary, though:
> 
> Farthest east is a large ocean, where the Zora's domain lies. Like salmon, they can inhabit fresh or salt water. Don't overthink it.  
> Unsurprisingly, to the north you've got the Northern Realms: Ordonia, Lanaryu, Faron, and Eldin. Somewhere up there lies the Keep.  
> Smack dab in the middle, separating the northern kingdoms from the expanding Gerudo Empire is Hyrule.  
> The south is loyal to one banner: that of Ganondorf Dragmire, the reigning ruler as a product of a counter-coup.  
> And there's just mountains and rocks and sands to the far east. And maybe Termina. Who knows? I don't.
> 
> I'm not a clever man... and any of you with even the slightest Witcher knowledge could look at a map of Sapkowski's continent and, if you ignored the place names or replaced them with my own, would see exactly where I borrowed my maps from.


	20. Chapter 20

The horse made good time over the desert sands to which it was accustomed, and had no trouble adapting to the verdant wetlands as the warm sands receded behind them. A single glance confirmed that it was a well-bread creature--a powerful black stallion whose height made mounting and dismounting difficult for all but its tallest riders--and a minute spent in the saddle would convince anyone that its nerves were steeled for use in battle. The Usurper was pleased that his master had left it for him, but he was more thrilled by what else he found waiting for him through the portal.

The horse stood tethered to a torch sconce that hadn’t seen use in over a hundred years, but now held a torch still burning brightly. Nearby, two dozen beasts stood wearing the tattered vestiges of his soldiers’ military apparel. Two dozen beasts assembled in two neat rows, all offering the best attempt at a salute that their odd physiology could manage.

They stood no taller than the average man, though the way their backs curved led the king to believe that their full height could be considerably greater. Not one among them still had a saber or dagger strapped to their belts; instead, their thin, elongated fingers glinted in the sunlight, betraying the luster of metal. Even their stone helmets hadn’t resisted change. They now encompassed the creatures’ entire faces, leaving the Usurper with doubts as to how well they could actually see.

Hesitantly, Zant felt his own face, and let out a sigh of relief. His own body hadn’t changed, and he had his master’s power to thank for that. That, and so much else.

After checking again that his princess--already transformed by his own magic, and apparently at no risk of further mutation--still drew breath, he placed her inside one of the saddle bags. The fit was too snug to fit all of her orange hair, so he let some tumble out the top. He couldn’t resist running his fingertips through the orange waves. Zant felt an uncharacteristic pang of regret as he closed the leather flap over her. How he wished it was a silken bedsheet he pulled over her full sleeping form, not the flap of a travel bag over her disgusting, malformed body!

Then he recalled his missing finger, and all sweet thoughts of what could have been shriveled up and died in a manner reminiscent of a slug doused by a torrential downpour of salt. Zant giggled. He typically kept a pinch of salt on his person for that very reason. He slapped the saddlebag with enough force to cause the injured imp to cry out in her sleep, and smirked.

On his third try, the Usurper managed to clamber atop his steed, grateful that Midna showed no signs of waking. She would have been sure to offer a stinging comment, had she witnessed his first couple tries.

Before he even lifted the reins, the horse set off. It seemed to know where it headed, and needed no input from Zant. Like shadows cast by this unfamiliar sun, his soldiers trailed close behind.

They were truly remarkable creatures, his shadows. They moved as swiftly as a hurricane’s gale but made no more noise than a gentle breeze as they tore through the countryside. No clinking mail hindered their movement or gave away their position. And when the party stopped, it was for the horse’s sake. The shadow beasts showed no signs of fatigue while the steed drank from a pond.

It was dark when Midna finally stirred, and the darkness was just as disorienting as the daylight had been for Zant. The princess panicked, first from the incredibly persistent pain felt in every bone of her body, and then as she became aware of her other senses, her prison made of leather. She wiggled enough to bust the clasp keeping the flap closed, and carefully peered out at her strange, new surroundings. The countryside rushed past, and for a few moments Midna felt that she would be sick.

Eventually, though, her stomach settled and she learned to ignore her aching body’s protests. She took stock of her situation. It didn’t look good.

While no lock or gaoler kept her from diving to freedom--a quick glance towards Zant informed her that he was preoccupied with not falling off--she wasn’t confident that her magic would be enough to keep her from jumping to her death as well. Floating was one thing; not crashing into a tree or becoming trampled underfoot was a different story.

Freedom felt no closer than ever, but as Midna finally got her bearings, her mind drifted to other things. While the barren, brown trees were definitely an obstacle to her escape, they were also objects of exotic beauty. The horse, and the grass, and the clouds, and the--holy shit--the stars in the sky were all marvelous sights that Midna had only seen before in the works of art depicting the world her people had all but forgotten. For just a moment, the princess wished the horse would slow down, not so that she could stage her great escape, but so that she could absorb every fascinating detail at her own pace.

The grunts of an umbral form easily matching the horse’s pace reminded the captive princess of her grim reality. As Midna’s gaze settled on the malformed beast, a snarl formed on her lips. Just like the trees and the sky, these creatures were not completely unfamiliar to her. During her people’s exile, many suffered such terrible fates for further defying the goddesses by resisting relocation to the Twilight realm.

 _If only, if only!_ the princess thought, positioning herself in the pouch so that she could view the horse’s rider. Though he slumped from hours spent in the saddle, his stature indicated that no such transformation had affected him.

The moon grew high in the sky, and neither horse nor rider showed any intent to stop for the night. Midna closed her eyes and willed herself to fall back asleep. She didn’t quite succeed, but the resulting state of semi-consciousness would do to pass the time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Link groaned. Even the moon seemed closer to him than the castle did. An entire day spent walking hadn’t found Link outside the castle’s gate, as he had hoped. Instead, the scarce few travelers willing to share words with the knight insisted that Castle Town was still several hours down the road, and the citadel itself another on top of that.

What Link hadn’t realized was how enormous Hyrule’s capital truly was. The citadel alone dwarfed the Keep in all dimensions, and that spoke nothing for the surrounding city. Called a “town” in name only, Link wondered how people could live among so many others and not go crazy from all the noise, or all the people. As Link drew closer, he realized that, to get to the castle, he would have to navigate an entire city first, one full of more people than he previously believed existed on the entire continent, let alone crammed into one place. Already, on the road he had encountered people from faraway lands, and while their accents all differed greatly (stranger yet, some didn’t speak Hylian at all), they all told him the same thing: turn and head back.

Undeterred, knight pressed on. His Triforce, he noticed, started acting up as he drew closer to the city. Every so often, it would send a warm, tingly pulse through his body, encouraging him that he was on the right track. He was grateful for its occasional warmth: there was an unusual chill in the air, and the night was young and would only get colder. Link was more than eager to find a warm place to sleep, but he hesitated to try his luck with any of the inns on the side of the road outside the city’s walls. He still smarted from his encounter at the Kingfisher, and decided he’d rather wait till he reached the city proper. Each tavern he passed looked even more run-down than the next, a trend the knight hoped wouldn’t persist past the city wall.

Link shivered as he shuffled along the road, kicking a rock he found about a mile back with the tip of his boot.

Scrape. Shuffle, shuffle. Scrape. Shuffle, shuffle. Scrape.

It was an easy rhythm. The pebble would jump a short distance ahead, and with two steps Link would catch up to it and set it in motion again.

Scrape. Shuffle, shuffle. Shiver, swoosh. Pause-

Link missed the stone. He thought about going back for it, but another shiver reminded him that more important tasks lay ahead of him. Like finding a warm bed somewhere. When did it get so damn cold? In the torchlight from a distant guard’s post, Link could see his breath starting to form little white puffs as it left his lungs. He pulled his hat further down over his ears. A second later, his Triforce sent another pulse through his body. It was a momentary bliss.

A horn sounded in the distance. Link’s ears perked up and escaped the confines of the hat upon detecting a sound so faint that no normal Hylian could have noticed. Not that there were any around, in the first place; he was alone for as far as he could see, except perhaps for the poor sods on duty in the guard’s post. Link typically passed by those without even risking a glance in their direction. He wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a Viper, or whatever Shad and Telma first thought he was, back in the tavern.

Without warning, another horn sounded, a short powerful blast followed by a longer, mournful tone. It was louder, this time, and perhaps closer as well.

Link made sure that no frost prevented him from loosing his sword from its sheath. It slid freely, though the metal felt frighteningly cold to the touch.

Another horn, the same pitch and pattern as the last but closer, closer this time for sure. Link could’ve sworn he heard a shout from the guard’s post behind him, and then a nearly deafening blast echoing the horns heard earlier. Metal clanked and a wooden door creaked open. Link turned to see two royal guards in plate mail hurrying from the little outpost. One still held an ornamental horn with a trembling gauntlet.

“Traveler!” the other shouted, “get off the road, and hide in the grass! This is a matter of national security, and you are not to get in the way!”

Then Link heard it: a woman’s high-pitched shriek, and a horse's faint gallop. Not a second later, the warmth emanating from the goddess’ treasure turned harsh, burning rather than comforting. The monster hunter turned towards the guards, trying to keep the grimace of pain from his face.

“It’s the princess, isn’t it? Let me help.” Link took a step towards them.

The one clutching the horn spoke up. “D-d-damn it, mutant, get out of the way. We’re more than capable of handling th-th-this on our own.”

Link snarked at the two, but didn’t have time for anything else. The sound of hoofs pummeling the cobblestones resounded through the night, and the wailing steadily crescendoed.

The knight spun around just in time to draw his sword and parry the creature that lunged at him. Link cursed for allowing himself to get distracted, and then again when the dark creature lashed out with its claws before dashing past him. Link twisted around, his eyes following the beast until it disappeared into the night.

“Wonder how many more will turn up,” Link mused, spinning the blade in his hands and peering into the darkness. He still hadn’t seen the princess, but judging by the screaming, she had to be close. And getting closer.

Another creature pounced, met the flat side of Link’s sword, and like the last, fled past the knight without even a moment’s delay. Link didn’t bother trying to chase this one; a third was nearly upon him.

But what were these creatures? Their breath was visible thanks to the cold, so Link ruled out undead and constructs. Were they some variant of relicts? No, those almost always preferred continuing their solitary existence away from the interference of civilization. Link spared a glance down at his torn mail. The rings were split evenly, and three blotchy red lines already started to soak through his tunic. Few beasts, if any, possessed claws sharp enough to inflict a blow like that, ruling out all sorts of natural creatures. If Link didn’t know any better, he would have though three daggers sliced his chest. Razors, honed like the one Shad owns.

The faceless grey monster lunged, but this time Link wasn’t caught off guard. The knight swung low, aiming to cripple the creature and prevent its escape. The blade struck true and tossed the creature to the side, but it rolled, got to its feet, and dashed forward to tackle one of the royal guards instead. Link heard a sickening crunch and a scream of agony, but the fight commandeered his attention away before he could witness the rest. He could only imagine the degree to which the guard's armor was now concave, a thought he’d rather not dwell on.

Link’s breaths came in short bursts. His lungs burned from the frigid air that assaulted his throat, and his fingers felt like liquid fire coursed through them, not blood.

The hooves’ clattering signaled the approach of a different beast. A stallion, black as midnight, barreled down the road. The rider’s cloak prevented Link from getting a good look at his face, but the figure lying across the saddle could only be the princess.

Link’s hand burned with even greater intensity as the horse drew ever nearer. Link saw the reins twitch and the steed obediently pointed straight towards the knight.

Whatever logical part of his brain that hadn’t yet shut down or frozen over urged him to step aside. The charging horse was the pendulum's wooden dummy, the arachas’ tusk, his spectral father’s swords, and the bandit’s axe all rolled into one.

Under the rider’s dark hood, Link could’ve sworn he saw the moonlight glint off a wicked grin.

Link raised his fist, though once again the action wasn’t sanctioned by his own thoughts. In an instant the horse was upon him. He forced his eyes shut and sucked in a final, painful breath...

His eyes shot open as the horse’s neighing reached his ears. Its hooves danced inches from his face as the creature reeled back, tottering on its hind legs. Link’s retinas burned like he had just glanced at the sun at noon, and the back of his wrist like the fiery ball itself descended to rest on his bare skin.

A pair of brown eyes, framed by long dark curls found the knight’s.

“Zelda!” Link shouted, instinctively reaching for the princess with the hand that didn’t grip a sword.

“Link?” the princess gasped, extending her own. This was no doubt the one the goddess had asked him to find; the golden symbol on the back of her dainty hand shone just as brightly as his.

Their fingers brushed each other’s palms the instant the horse returned its flailing hooves to the road, jerking the two apart. This violent turn dislodged something from the saddlebags. The horse raced away as a cascade of orange more delicate than falling silk pooled around a grey lump on the ground, though the knight’s focus remained on the fleeing horseman.

“Link!” the princess screamed again, though her voice became smaller and smaller in the distance. The last of the strange creatures dashed past, not even bothering to slash at the knight as they fled. Link made no attempt at them, either. His sword had already slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.

It was over. That was it. The goddesses needed him to carry out one task, and he came up short. He turned to face the last of the fleeing creatures, noting without particular interest the two lifeless forms lying on the cobblestones. Link had half a thought to join them.

A low growl returned him to his senses. “Who the fuck are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains one of the first scenes I imagined when planning the story. I hope it is every bit as enjoyable to read as I found writing it to be!
> 
> I'm really excited to have made it this far. We've still got quite a ways to go, though, so don't worry about that.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my. It's been quite a while. The good news is I'm done with classes for the term and so I'll have plenty of time to write over the break.

A slowly swelling commotion from the castle spoiled the otherwise still night. The first snowflakes started their descent from the heavens, guided to the ground by the stray beams of moonlight that pierced through the clouds. Link hadn’t heard anyone approach. Despite his training, he flinched as the words greeted his ears and felt the hair on the back of his neck rise in alarm. Disliking surprises was part of the trade, after all, but so was reacting to them properly.

His hand traced its usual path through the air to the sheath on his back. The act had been rehearsed thousands of times, to the point where its normalcy was comforting. Yet, the knight moved sluggishly, as if through water. And there was nothing normal about that.

Link tore his eyes off the corpses lying on the road and spun around. Although his footwork lacked flaws, even this felt awkward. A loose cobblestone threatened to send him toppling to the ground, but somehow he managed to remain upright.

Finally, his hand reached the sheath. Gloved fingers closed around thin air where the hilt of his weapon should have rested, and for a moment Link’s mind offered no explanation. Only when the strident scraping of metal on stone reached his ears did he remember that he dropped his sword. The knight froze mid-turn, and not a second too soon. Considering that the tip of his blade now rested against his throat, he would have nicked himself had he stopped but a moment later. Slowly, Link turned the rest of the way to face his adversary, taking a step back to leave a healthy distance between his flesh and the sword.

The quadrupeds he first encountered on the road surprised him with both their twisted, alien bodies and their unnatural combat prowess. The rider, even shrouded by its cloak, revealed enough of a figure that belonged to no kindred common to the continent. Surely, Link thought as his eyes followed his sword to its wielder, nothing more would come as a shock to him. But once again, he was mistaken.

The creature that stood--or rather, floated--before him was… smaller than expected. Head to toe, it spanned half a meter at most, although such a measurement did not account for the orange hair atop its head that acted like a third appendage in addition to the arms crossed over its chest. Err, her chest, the knight corrected himself. The creature gripped the hilt of Link’s sword with these tendrils of tawny hair, forming an oversized, five-fingered fist accurate down to the indentations left for fingernails.

Dirt and blood coated the creature’s body, but beside an alarming number of bruises and scrapes, nothing else. She wore a toothy scowl, or perhaps a grimace. No doubt those wounds hurt.

Link’s heart audibly marked the passage of several seconds as both imp and knight studied the other. He searched for potential weakness, as he was trained; he noted her slightly erratic levitation, how she would veer to one side every so often and have to manually correct her course to keep the blade held in a threatening position against his throat. The way her red eyes flitted across his own body, especially the gashes in his chest, informed him that she was likely looking for the same in him.

The noise from the city grew louder yet. Sparing a quick glance from the imp, he understood why. Over the city’s outermost walls he could see the red tips of flame peeking over the walls, and a shift in the wind brought to his nose a hint of smoke.

The snow started coming down at a more frantic pace. The imp seemed unsettled by this, using her arms to brush flakes off her shoulders. Abruptly, she whisked the sword away from Link’s jugular and sunk the tip into the ground between cobblestones, only narrowly avoiding chipping the blade in the process. The knight winced at the mistreatment of his weapon, but made no move to retrieve it; the imp’s orange arm moved the deadly meter of meteorite steel like it were weightless, and would no doubt react faster than the knight could pounce.

“I asked you a question, damn it. Are you mute?” the imp asked, glaring up at the knight.

The creature thought for a second, then rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath that the knight couldn’t discern. She spoke again, but the words--if you could call them that--made no sense to the young Hylian. The language was as mellifluous as it was unfamiliar. Link heard, from another knight errant, of the Zora’s official court language that incorporated both shifting tones and various hisses and clicks, but even that tongue more closely resembled the common Hylian used by nearly every speaker on the continent. This was something else entirely.

Cold air numbed the knight’s cheeks and nose, making it difficult for him to maintain a stoic face. Some confusion must have slipped through, for the imp let out a sigh, balled her hands into fists at her side, and started to hum. Her tiny frame started to shake and Link wondered if, in her exasperation, she would simply buzz off after the rest of the strange creatures and the captive Princess Zelda.

If she did, however, Link realized that he would have no luck tracking the princess in the fresh snow. Undoubtedly, this imp was the enemy, but a useful foe as well.

And so he spoke. Or tried to, anyway. His first attempt produced only a faintly visible puff of warm air as his freezing lips struggled to form the right shapes. He got it right on the second attempt, after a hard swallow and another look at his sword.

“Let’s save us both some time and stick with Hylian, alright?”

The imp chuckled, clearly less than amused but instead... condescending.

“So it does talk, after all. Here I was, thinking you were dumb as a dog.”

The imp’s smirk vanished, however, as her ears twitched. A second later, Link heard it too: horseshoes striking the stone road, from the direction of the castle. The imp turned around, but after a moment’s pause spun back and floated towards the knight. Looking over her head, Link counted five riders in the distance.

“Shit. Company, and if I had to take a guess, not the friendly type. Not for me, anyway. Okay then, Green, introductions later. For now, just, uh... stay still.”

Link stepped back and raised his fists, but to no avail. The imp was faster. Leaving the sword sticking in the ground, she hurled her body at him. And vanished. The knight spun around, searching, but couldn’t even catch a glimpse of her fiery hair or pale skin.

When she next spoke, however, her voice was louder and clearer than before.

“Hah, you’re like a dog chasing its own tail! What, still searching for me? Gah, you Hylians really are slow. Look down. No, turn around. The shadow! Look at your shadow!”

The guard post’s light barely reached Link, but sure enough, where his own shadow should have lain floated the unmistakable, dark outline of the imp. He could still see the road beneath her, but she rose from the ground like no mundane shadow could. The knight aimed a kick at the umbral apparition, but his boot sailed through the imp’s head without resistance. This act earned him another chuckle.

“Heh, nice try, Green. Okay, grab your pointy metal stick and let’s get out of here.”

Link retrieved his sword and inspected it for damage before returning it to its sheath. Addressing the incorporeal imp felt ridiculous, but the knight would rather get it over with now, while the riders--hopefully royal guards--were still out of earshot.

“Look,” he hissed, “don’t get comfy in my shadow. You _will_ tell me how to find your master, and then we part ways. Or, I find some dimeritium, or powdered silver, or a cuckoo crowing at midnight, or _something_ that will let me demonstrate just how pointy my metal stick really is. Understand?”

The imp rose from Link’s shadow until her face floated inches from the knight’s, who couldn’t help but take a half step back at the sudden aggression. Her shadowy form was difficult to make out, between the snow and the darkness, but somehow her eyes kept a hint of their previous color and shone as red as the blood on the cobblestones.

“Know your place, dog. You still breathe because you have the potential to be useful. I assume you are referring to Zant--who is _not_ my master--and luckily for you, I happen to have a score to settle with him, as well. So I’ll take us to him. But if you try to lecture me again, I will make you beg for death as a mercy. Do not take a Twili threat lightly, Hylian. I know magicks your world has all but forgotten.”

Link felt a nearly crippling sense of deja-vu that sent him to his knees, and for a moment felt a cool metal shackle close around his ankle. A green miasma swirled around his thoughts, and images of a prison he had never visited coalesced in his mind. With one final leer, the imp disappeared back into the knight’s shadow, and the feeling passed.

Link had just enough time to pick himself up and shake the fog from his head before the riders were upon him. The leading guardsman barked an order and rode on past, flanked by two of the others. The remaining two slowed to a halt and dismounted, one near the corpses and the other in front of the knight.

“Put your hands where I can see them, traveler, and don’t even think about reaching for that sword of yours,” the knight said, her mittened hands on the hilt of her own.

Link lowered his head and complied. Things would certainly take a turn for the worse if the guard caught sight of his eyes. He only hoped that the damnable imp wouldn’t show her face any time soon. The guards would just love that.

The other guard spoke up and Link heard his footsteps approaching. “Just like the last post. Nothing we can do for ‘em now.”

The first guard was now uncomfortably close to the knight. She smelled strongly of soot. Link dared not raise his eyes to check, but he suspected that he could have still seen the flames over the walls.

“So traveler, you wanna explain why two dozen royal guards are lying dead from those beasts, but you’ve only got a scratch? You know something we don’t?”

“Lieutenant, I don’t think--” the other guard started, but the first cut him off.

“No, really. You working with those rat-bastards? Huh? Speak up!”

Link managed to get his words out on his first try. “I can fight. Let me help you.”

The lieutenant scoffed. “Not a chance. Get back to the city, but take the south gate. The royal guard has this situation under control.”

Link wanted to scream at her. His body started to feel warm, his left hand uncomfortably so. He raised his voice and his head when addressing the lieutenant this time.

“No, no you don’t! Those… things kidnapped your princess!”

The other guard butted in, “Civilians aren’t supposed to know--” but was once again cut off, this time by the knight.

“You need a professional! You need me!”

Link’s eyes met the lieutenant’s. It was a mistake. Clad in full plate mail but with an open-faced helmet, her wide-eyed stare and gaping mouth was telling enough.

“I knew it,” the lieutenant said, drawing her sword. Behind him, a similar scraping of steel along a scabbard indicated that the other guard had done the same.

The knight’s hand shot towards the hilt of his own blade, but he knew it would be too late. He dropped into a roll at the last second, narrowly avoiding a scalping. No matter how badly he needed a haircut, he’d rather wait and get one by a professional. Or even a drunk Bokoblin. The lieutenant wanted to take a bit more off the top than he was comfortable with.

Link freed his sword upon getting to his feet and danced around the guards till both were in front of him. Judging by the way the male guard held his blade, he would pose little threat; the lieutenant, however, was no rookie. Still, the highwayman’s vacant stare still haunted him behind closed eyelids. Link didn’t want to add their faces to his nightmares, too.

“Stop! What are you doing? I’m not the enemy--Zant is! He has your princess!”

“Be that as it may, mutant,” came the reply from the lieutenant. “There’s no way your hands are clean in all of this. No, we’ll find out who you’re working for after we’ve sliced you open. Did Gerudo gold coins buy you, or did those shadow beasts offer you something, from one monster to another?”

Monster… monster… monster…

The words echoed around his head. A scene from another moonlit night filled his mind, one he’d rather have forgotten.

Link gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his sword. If they wanted a fight, they were going to get one. He was a faster swordsman than speaker, anyway, and as Zant raced to goddesses-know-where, time was certainly of the essence.

“Last chance,” he growled, and as the golden symbol on his hand flashed hot, he hoped the goddesses weren’t watching too closely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this, I couldn't help but think about that one scene from Princess Mononoke... you know the one.  
> "I'll cut your throat! That'll shut you up!"  
> "You're beautiful..."  
> Anyway, it feels good to be writing again.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, look at that. Another update. Merry Chrysler, y'all.

The lieutenant was still laughing when her subordinate fell to one knee, clutching the blade that pierced his armor where the greave met the cuisse.

Link thanked his luck and the tell-tale glint of polished metal in the moonlight. He hadn’t tested his sword on armor before, but his encounter with a particular arachas reminded him of all that could go wrong. So rather than challenge the formidable wall of steel directly, he cheated. The vulnerability, the chink in the armor’s protection was slight and hardly noticeable, but it was enough. The padding underneath parted with little persuasion, letting his sword poke out through the other side.

More importantly, an injury to the knee wouldn’t prove fatal. Not likely, anyway, this close to Castle Town and the hospitals within. The downed guard might seek early retirement or employment that doesn’t involve as much walking in the future, but Link was sure that the man would agree that a loss of limb was preferable to a loss of life. The goddesses, he thought, would hopefully feel the same.

For a moment, all that could be heard was the chaos from the city and the guard’s whimpering. But only for a moment. The lieutenant’s malicious grin vanished, and in its place hung something terrible, a contortion of the face born of rage and rancor. Her sword jerked towards Link.

The knight saw it coming--expected it, even. He would pull his sword from the crippled knee, parry the hasty attack, and send his sword through the lieutenant as well. Depending on how vulnerable the recoil left her, maybe he’d try for the joining of plates under the collarbone, or attempt a feint and go for the sword arm.

Link hadn’t expected the kneeling guard to fall over. He hadn’t even considered it. He didn’t expect the buckling plates to pinch his sword and grip it like a vice, so that when the guard toppled over, his sword resisted his pull and instead jerked out of his grasp.

Even the best laid plans… but now, it was simply too late to come up with another.

Link braced as if to parry, sword or not. Instinct warned him against a dodge; surprised, he had managed to lose track of the guard’s sword as it arced through the air, and rolling to get away would leave more of him vulnerable than if he took the blow on his own terms.

Steel bit into the mail across his shoulders, splitting chains and cutting deeper through the fabric and leather underneath, but thankfully not much farther than that. Link staggered from the blow, but recovered quickly and ducked away. He could feel a familiar warm wetness spread through his shirt, but the wound still seemed within the realm of what his red potion could cure. He doubted he would have any left over to treat the earlier gash across the stomach, but for now, while the adrenaline and his mutations lessened their sting, his focus was elsewhere.

Perhaps the lieutenant was used to her adversaries falling from a single blow, or maybe she was preoccupied with preparing another snarky insult. Either way, her follow-up attack was just a bit too slow.

With a snarl, Link closed the distance between them in the bat of an eye, throwing himself at the guard. The road was slick with a dusting of accumulated snow, causing the pair to slide a short distance before finally toppling over. 

Their landing was anything but graceful. Link, for the most part, landed on top, though one of his feet became twisted in hers and made an odd pop as it hit the ground. But the guard had it worse. The ringing of her helmet against the cobblestones was painful to Link’s sensitive ears, but no doubt it was worse for her. Undoubtedly bruised and evidently stunned, she made no attempt to get up as the knight scrambled to his feet.

Link got there, but didn’t stay upright for long. The second he put weight on his ankle, a searing pain shot through his leg that sent him careening back down on top of the lieutenant. He felt the plate mail give a little from the impact and heard the air escape her lungs. Despite the pain he felt, or perhaps because of it, the lieutenant’s groan was satisfying.

Slowly this time, Link tried to stand. If he kept his weight on his uninjured leg, it wasn’t impossible. Movement, however, might be. He risked a gentle step, but almost screamed as his ankle informed him that walking was a terrible idea.

An idea came to Link. He waited for other, better ideas to follow, but none did. Link knew what he had to do and loathed the thought, but the dazed and winded lieutenant wouldn’t stay that way forever. Already she was starting to stir, and although her eyes were unfocused and stared past Link to the sky above, her mumbling was becoming less incoherent by the second and more and more started to resemble a torrent of some of the foulest swear words Link had ever heard.

Link cleared his throat. “Hey… imp. Feel like lending me a hand, here?”

Almost immediately, the imp’s corporeal form floated into view. Link got the impression that she had been waiting to step in since the fighting started. 

“I almost thought you’d never ask,” the imp said.

Link held back a comment behind nearly frozen lips. He nodded towards the lieutenant’s sword, lying a meter away where it had fallen after tumbling from the guard’s grasp.

The imp’s impressive mane formed a fist and snatched the sword from the street. Link marveled at how the orange appendage functioned. So nimbly it held the sword, pointed the tip towards the earth, and carried the weapon to rest a handspan from the lieutenant’s exposed neck.

“Shall I do the honors, then?” the imp asked, the snark strangely absent in her voice.

Link blinked. “Wait, what? No, give it here. Gah! We’re not killing them. I need it to walk!”

It was the imp’s turn for confusion. She opened her mouth as if to protest, wordlessly gesturing towards the downed guard, but nonetheless offered the sword to the knight, hilt-first.

The weapon was too short to be a proper crutch, but when used like a cane, it at least offered the possibility of mobility. The knight turned to ask the imp to fetch his sword as well, but, judging by her scowl, the odds that she would be willing to perform another menial task for him were next to nonexistent. He’d have to get it himself.

The knight hobbled over, lowered himself to the ground, and set to work. The guard whimpered as Link wrested the blade from his knee. He tried to be gentle, but the pathetic noises stopped when the sword was only halfway free. Faced with that much pain, Link imagined that he would pass out, too. With a final, sickening squelch, the knight’s sword slid free.

Link knew that he would end up on the ground again if he tried to clean his blade while standing and holding his improvised crutch, so with a sigh he returned his weapon to its sheath still slick with the unfortunate guard’s blood. He spared one last glance at the downed defenders--and noted with dismay that the lieutenant was already sitting upright--before casting his gaze higher. He would never catch up to the princess on foot, especially not in his current state, where his odds wouldn’t be favorable in a race against a deku baba. He needed a horse. 

Link first feared that he was out of luck, as he had heard the terrified whinnying from both of the guards’ mounts and assumed that they spooked and fled during the fighting. Relief washed through him, however, when he spotted a brown muzzle peeking out from behind the guard post. Apparently, one hadn’t fled too far. With great difficulty, the knight made his way over.

The horse hardly reacted to Link’s approach, though the same could not be said for the imp’s. As soon as she rounded the corner of the small building, the horse snorted and trotted back several steps. Link glowered at the imp before stepping closer to soothe the beast. The imp huffed and disappeared back into the knight’s shadow.

“There, there,” Link muttered, reaching out to stroke the mare’s muzzle. She allowed him to, and did not protest as the knight hobbled around to her side, though she turned her head to keep a watchful eye on him. Link, in turn, kept up the soothing words and started to stroke the horse’s mane. Finally, he reached the saddle--but what next? The horse was larger than the scraggly breeds that frequented the mountainside he called home. With his injured ankle, he doubted that he would be able to leap straight into the saddle, as he had seen other knights do. Link gingerly placed his aching foot in the stirrup. Then removed it, wincing at the thought of using it to propel him onto the horse. He dug the lieutenant’s blade into the ground and tried to repeat the process with his better foot, but even with the sword’s assistance, resting his weight on the other foot sent stabbing pain through his body.

Link decided that he was just going to have to jump for it, after all. His hands found purchase on the saddle, and his good leg pushed his body off the earth. He landed on the saddle on his stomach, painfully rubbing his torn mail against his scratches but more or less succeeding in mounting the horse.

Said horse, however, didn’t like his sudden movements. The knight hadn’t expected her to be pleased, but he certainly didn’t anticipate her dashing down the road. Lying across the saddle, his good foot somehow found itself in the stirrup, though he felt no less likely to be dislodged any second. Link threw his arms around the horse’s neck and held on for dear life. The floppy hat that so often threatened to fly off made good on its promise this time and actually went and did it. The knight didn’t have the time to look back and see where it landed, and he doubted the horse would be willing to cooperate and head back for it anyway. Regardless of what Link shouted or the way he tugged her hair, the mare charged forward, following the road away from the castle.

The lieutenant’s voice reached Link’s pointed ears as the knight sped away, despite the thunder generated from the hooves.

“Get back here, roach!”

The imp giggled from Link’s shadow. “Ouch. Somehow, I don’t think she was referring to the horse.”

“Very funny,” Link said through gritted teeth. “When you’re done laughing, help me out here!”

More giggling. Somehow, the knight knew that asking for assistance would be a mistake. He saw the orange hand sail through the air and flinched as it passed over his head.

Thwack.

“In what universe does that constitute as help?” Link cried as the horse charged down the road with renewed vigor from the imp’s far-from-gentle persuasion. His eyes watered from the cold and the wind that rushed by.

“We’re trying to catch up to Zant, remember? Now, we’ll get there sooner!”

Link’s reply, thankfully, was lost to the wind.

Twice more, the imp applied her persuasion to the horse’s rump when she decided that the poor creature wasn’t traveling fast enough, although once she “accidentally” missed and nearly swatted Link out of the saddle. To no ones' surprise, then, after maintaining its breakneck pace for close to an hour, the horse started to slow. Link sighed, knowing what was coming, and braced for the sudden burst of speed. Yet, this time, the horse did not react besides huffing and shaking its mane in protest. Its pace fell to a leisurely trot.

And so the imp took aim once more.

This time, the horse stopped completely, reared up, and dislodged Link from its back. Finally freed of its annoying parasites, it galloped off, vanishing beyond even Link’s eyesight in seconds.

Link gingerly got to his feet, thankful that the cold had numbed his ankle enough to let him hobble around unassisted. He wanted to grumble at the imp, but strangely enough she was nowhere to be found. Deprived of the guard post’s lamps and with clouds blocking the moon, the knight couldn’t make out his own shadow, let alone see if it still resembled that cursed imp. He shook his head. Her location wasn’t important at the moment; Link needed to figure out where he now stood.

The horse had followed the road, at least, and deposited him along the same path he walked earlier that day. Link looked over his shoulder, but he couldn’t distinguish the castle’s spires from the sky. It would be no use heading back that way, anyhow. By now, word may have spread among the guards; Link wondered if he’d even be allowed into the city.

This stretch of road was hardly distinguishable from any other the knight had traversed in the last several days, aside from a faint dusting of snow. He spun back around. Seeing no better option, Link decided to walk. The castle stood behind him, and as far as he could see, the desolate road stretched out before him. 

The warmth on his cheeks surprised him, although the wind refused to let him savor the feeling for long. He shivered, though he could not readily discern the cause--he felt colder inside than out, after all. Thoughts of the princess--the target of his quest, who no doubt sped farther and farther from him with every passing minute--caused despair to once again well in his stomach. Fearful that the imp would notice, and unsure if he could weather another of her comments without replying with his sword, he wiped the tears from his face and trudged on.

Several minutes passed before Link came across the first building. He almost missed it: his eyes were on his shoes, and his heart seemed even lower than that. Only the outline of the roof and walls were visible, but Link couldn’t recall which of the buildings the silhouette belonged to. Curiously enough, the crooked housetop and leaning walls didn’t bring to mind any farmhouse or inn the knight remembered passing on the way. Only when Link stood in front of a section of the roof, torn from the building, could he fathom the mystery.

He had returned to Telma’s tavern, the Capricious Kingfisher. Or what was left of it, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for some proper imp-roductions? (Get it? Introductions?)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another. It's a wee bit lengthier than most of the others, but it was really fun to write.  
> Enjoy!

Midna still hadn’t discovered what force kept the boy moving as he fought through the rubble lying in what was once this building’s front door. Torn ligament aside, he shouldn’t be standing, much less rummaging around the ruins. No doubt, his wounds were still bleeding, and he had been shivering incessantly for the last hour. The imp almost felt a pang of remorse for pushing him and the horse so hard, but the emotion was easily quelled by thoughts of Zant and her own troubles. In comparison, his problems were insignificant. Laughable, even.

Nevertheless, he would be due for a new nickname if he kept bleeding through his shirt. “Red” might be a bit more apt if he didn’t settle down! But if how he stood was a medical mystery, then why was a mystery of a different sort. One that she planned to find out before the idiot bled out, if she could help it.

The incorporeal imp travelled over broken chairs, shattered tables, and splinters of former walls in the knight’s shadow as he peered behind the bar and peeked under table after table. One after another, grotesque sights met him wherever he turned. Zant and his minions hadn’t been any less kind to the bar’s patrons than she expected.

She didn’t need to tell the Hylian that his search was futile. He had seen enough. He scooted a chair away from a mangled body and gingerly sat down before reaching around and grabbing his rucksack. He had fished through the pack with tremulous fingers and procured a bottle filled with a red liquid by the time the imp slipped from his shadow to join him at the table. With her oversized orange fist she cleared debris and empty mugs alike from the table, sending them crashing to the ground. The noise startled the swordsman, who almost fumbled the bottle and sent her a dirty look in response. His attention immediately returned to unstoppering the bottle, a task made difficult by the stubborn cork and numb hands.

The princess wouldn’t have tolerated such disrespect in her own court, but this shack was about as far from her beloved Halls of Twilight as it gets, and she was acutely aware of this fact.

Midna felt small. While the Hylian continued to fiddle with his bottle, she inspected her pudgy fingers on her miniaturized hand, rolled them into a fist, and let it drop to her side. It wasn’t just her physical transformation, she decided. Her gaze rose higher, finding a hole in the roof that offered a glimpse at the distant heavens. Back home, the familiar, eternal dusk was comforting. It felt closer, and its constancy was reassuring. These stars, it seemed, nightly danced from horizon to horizon, all to eventually betray the sky to that big bully, the sun, who would sell out to the stars again in mere hours. Her comfort had been replaced by a cosmic battleground of infinite proportion. The vastness of this world, the way the ground spread under an endless starry sky--a violent, warring sky--had been fascinating for a time, but as she looked at the heavens now, she felt like she was staring into an abyss.

A shiver raced down the imp’s spine, sending another tankard into freefall. She glanced at her companion, expecting another reproachful glare, but to her surprise, his face was also upturned. His watery eyes, too, peered skyward.

_When he isn’t gritting his teeth and snarling at everything that moves,_ Midna mused, _his features are much more pleasing._

_Well, more pleasant, anyway. Peaceful._

_Too peaceful?_

The knight’s eyes slowly slid closed, and the last of the tension left his shoulders. The glass bottle slipped from his relaxed grip and shattered on the floor, adding a negligible amount of debris to the rubble underfoot.

_Too peaceful. Much too peaceful._

A sigh escaped his lips, but another did not follow. Even after waiting several seconds, she didn’t see his chest rise again.

“Shit,” she said. Many times.

Midna had poured herself into the shadow-binding spell that linked them, just about every last drop she had been saving since arriving in this miserable realm. He was a suitable host, and finding a replacement would be far too costly and time consuming. He couldn’t just quit on her. She wouldn’t allow it.

These were the thoughts that propelled her across the table, although she knew not what to do once she got there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The clatter of displaced dishware startled the knight, sending him upright in his seat and no doubt costing him several precious seconds. Time he didn’t have. He entertained the idea of telling the imp off, but thought better of it and returned to his task. Link’s hands shook as he struggled with the cork, but this time not from the cold; he was dizzy and could hardly muster the strength to grip the bottle and tug the stopper at the same time. With a final grunt that spread several stars across his vision, he removed the top and lifted the bottle to his shoulder. As carefully as he could, he let half the bottle’s bright red contents fall on the wound. Immediately, the tonic got to work, stinging and hissing and creating a foam that would act as temporary skin to staunch the bleeding while his body closed the wound. It wasn’t pretty to watch, but thankfully his attention was needed elsewhere. Of what liquid remained in the bottle, he spared several drops on the three trenches on his chest and tossed the rest down his throat. It was a vile decoction, but the effects came swiftly and were well worth the bitter taste.

Link took one deep breath, and then another. This wasn’t his first red potion; Rusl stockpiled several bottles back at the Keep for the more serious accidents that the instructor couldn’t suture. Thus, Link was aware of the side effects; in fact, he looked forward to the drowsiness to come. For once he would be free of the guilt that dogged him on his travels every time he stopped to rest. Rest, now that it was his only recourse, felt less like a crime, less like an insult to the Goddesses who appointed him for this task and the waiting Princess Zelda. Now it was essential, like another step of his quest.

Perhaps, even, his dreams would be free of the familiar, unmoving faces that typically frequented his thoughts behind closed eyes. Perhaps, but likely not. Nonetheless, a faint smile played across his lips as his eyes drifted to the heavens before he shuttered them for the night. The back of his hand tingled, and somehow he knew that the goddesses hadn’t given up on him.

The bottle slipped from his fingertips and shattered with a twinkle, but surely another wouldn’t be so difficult to find, right? Nothing could interrupt his bliss.

Not even that annoying imp.

He heard another small commotion and felt a tug on his tunic, but his mind was elsewhere. Link raced through fields of gold, enjoying the way the warm sunlight fell on his cheeks. Gone was the cruel, lonely winter. Summer was a welcome replacement, and it was anything but lonely: Link turned to find the merchant’s daughter wearing a smile on her face and a simple but unmarred dress. The knight dreaded what would come next. All his dreams ended that way.

But this one didn’t.

He blinked, and instead of visiting a familiar moonlit scene in the woods surrounding the Keep, he found himself in a cozy dwelling. The girl stood there, still smiling, this time joined by two small children. They both had her straw-colored hair. One child tottered forward and latched onto the knight’s tunic and started to tug at it playfully. The merchant’s daughter walked over and pressed herself close to Link before whispering something that he didn’t quite catch in his ear. It was melodic and sweet like a fragment of a song long forgotten, but short, not even a full phrase. It was a tease, just a taste, and although Link wanted the whole melody, the girl playfully danced away as if she were floating, always just out of reach.

If it was a challenge, the knight accepted. He lunged for her, and she could not match his speed.

The girl swore. Pain blossomed in his hand. Reality ensued.

“Ilia!” Link shouted as he lurched from the chair, taking the imp down with him.

They were fortunate to avoid the plethora of sharp detritus that blanketed the floor of the ruined bar, yet the landing was less than gentle. The imp recovered first, shooting off the ground and speeding around the building. She was buzzing like a hornet’s nest, and evidently just as angry.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD! YOU STOPPED BREATHING SO I TRIED TO HELP BUT YOUR STUPID ARMOR WOULDN’T BUDGE SO I--”

Link slowly picked himself off the floor and brushed shards of glass from his sleeves. His hand smarted, and upon further inspection he found a large bite imprinted in the leather. He had hoped to wake with fewer injuries, but even breaking even was asking for too much.

“Slow down,” Link said, pleading with not only the imp but the ground that spun underneath him, too. “Goddesses above, what is it? And what compelled you to take a bite of my hand?”

The imp slowed to a halt. Pouting, she crossed one arm over the other.

“Hey, count yourself lucky there, pal. The last guy who tried to pull one of those is missing a finger.”

Link’s eyebrows furrowed as he rightened the chair and retook his seat.

“Wasn’t dying. Was on the mend, actually. Was. Next time don’t call it early. And let me sleep!”

The air grew still as the choir of bees dissipated and the imp returned to her seat on the table. Sleep would have to wait, the knight realized. She looked ready to talk.

“Look, Green, I’m not particularly fond of our partnership either, alright? Believe me, if there was a way I could do this by myself, it would already be done. It seems to me, you feel the same way. But if you want to see your stupid princess ever again, you’ve got to play by my rules. Because I’m obviously the brains of the operation, you’ve got to keep me informed. I’m not asking for much; I won’t inquire about your ‘Ilia,’ or anything else I don’t deem absolutely necessary. But next time you decide to go comatose, a bit of a heads up would be nice, alright?”

Link frowned, ready to object, but the imp didn’t bother waiting for confirmation.

“Lovely. Now, time for introductions. I suppose it’s my turn now, as Mr. Handsy over there already did his piece. You may call me Midna.”

It took Link a moment to comprehend what, exactly, the imp had meant, and another to think of an appropriate apology, but by that time Midna was ready with her next question. He had mumbled his name and got through half of an apology before the imp cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“Cute. Now, care to explain why you, a Hylian, are drenched in the magicks of my people?”

The question caught Link off-guard. By now, he had met enough people to know that an appropriate second question following an introduction usually involved where one was heading, where one was from, or how business had been lately. Strangers didn’t usually jump straight to the Keep’s most well-guarded secrets.

Then again, Midna was certainly stranger than most the knight had encountered on the road.

“I… I’m sorry… what?

Midna was not amused.

“Don’t play coy. I can practically feel your skin vibrate when I fly to close. And it’s a familiar buzz. So I’ll ask you once more: why do you radiate Twili magic?”

Link shrugged, noting that the pain in his shoulder had lessened considerably.

“I don’t know the ‘magicks of your people’, just as I don’t know which ‘people’ you could possibly be referring to. I’ve hardly got a grasp of my own people's magic as it is.”

To demonstrate, the knight nodded toward the detached leg of a chair sticking upright in a pile of rubble by the bar. After three attempts, it was apparent that the most he could conjure was a dim flash and a flame that lasted for less than a second, earning a mocking giggle from the imp. He turned back to her, wondering just how much he could share without betraying his brothers-in-arms. The exercise only reminded him how little he actually knew about the Trials.

“There is… this procedure. All the knights go through it, at some point. I don’t know the details, so don’t bother asking.”

Midna nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer.

“And how many of you knights are there?”

Link started counting on his fingers, but stopped after filling only a single hand. “A dozen, maybe?” It was a generous estimate.

The imp nodded once more and grew silent. Absent-mindedly, she let herself float into the air and slowly drift around the table. Several seconds passed while the imp mulled over the information and the knight readied a question of his own.

“You said ‘your people’. You, the horseman, those creatures… What are you, Midna? Why are you here, and why did it have to involve the princess?”

The imp drew herself to her full height and swept her hair behind her in an elaborate gesture.

“I am the Twilight Princess, rightful heir of the Twili people.”

The knight chuckled until the imp’s cross stare informed him that she wasn’t joking. He sobered up immediately.

“Ahem. As I was saying, Zant is a pretender and a regicide. Those shadow beasts you fought… they were my royal guard. The journey from our home, the Twilight Realm, was difficult for them. Your princess may be another casualty of Zant’s coop.”

Now Link found himself at a loss for words. Neither spoke for a short while, although both of them, at different points, opened their mouths to speak only to close them a second later.

“Ah... sorry about that,” Link eventually mumbled, only to be interrupted by the imp. She slapped a grey hand over his mouth and tried to not let the tell-tale pulse of his magic distract her.

“Shh. Hey, listen. Hear that? Outside.”

Princess or not, Link was ready to shove the princess aside when, after several seconds of silence, he heard it, too: a faint rustling and the soft jingle of metal on a chain. Or a harness. The pair shared a look as Midna withdrew her hand from his mouth.

Gingerly, Link tested his weight on his ankle, and to his pleasant surprise, all that remained of his former pain was a dull ache. The same could be said of his shoulder and chest, where new skin had almost completely finished knitting over the wounds. If he had another thirty minutes to waste, he could have watched the wound disappear entirely before his very eyes.

Link cast one last glance around the bar. Grim as it appeared, the knight was hopeful. None of the bodies he had seen belonged to Shad or Telma, who he suspected could handle themselves in a fight against even the shadow beasts. In addition, there were fewer corpses now than patrons the night before; surely, then, some managed to escape.

Regret filled the air: more specifically, the scrape of grit between scabbard and blade as Link drew his weapon. The knight promised his sword a good cleaning and oil treatment--after finding the princess--as he crept past the threshold of the tavern. Midna floated, fully corporeal, a few feet behind him as he approached the origin of the noise, the stable. This building was in no better shape than the bar. Somehow, a large chunk of the thatched roof was missing, and claw marks scored deep lines into the walls and gate. Defying expectations, the whole structure didn’t collapse when Link pushed open the gate. It swung open without a hitch.

The scene that awaited the pair inside the stable differed from the bar’s in only one significant way: the addition of animal carcasses strewn into the usual mess of rubble and remains. Evidently, some of the families that sought refuge from the shadow beasts here suffered the same fate as those still lying in the bar.

A quick walk down the stalls told Link all he needed to know. The survivors, if any, hadn’t stuck around. He took a step towards the door when he heard it again: the clinking of metal, this time accompanied by a muffled whinny. Midna flew straight to the source, the rear wall. After looking around for a bit, she suddenly dove behind a stall and emerged with a slightly soiled piece of paper in hand. She handed it to the knight, not bothering to hide her look of disgust.

“Well, that does it, Green. No more favors from me involving stables and shit until I’ve had a bath,” the imp said, sulking into the knight’s shadow. Out of sight but not earshot, Midna’s muttering about having to wash her hair continued for some time.

More than animal refuse marred the page. It was torn along one edge and dotted with red stains in multiple locations. The ink was smeared, likely disturbed before it was allowed to dry properly. The penmanship was consistent with that deduction: the note consisted of only one line scribbled hastily and with no regard for the page’s alignment. Barring the stains, the other side was blank. Link managed to make out the letters thanks to the improvised skylight. The note read:

_Linkle: Password unchanged._

“So, what did it say? You can read, right?”

The imp’s disembodied voice echoed in Link’s head. Without warning. Link’s favorite.

“Funny thing is, it gave me very detailed instructions on how to get five minutes of peace and quiet,” the knight replied. “I didn’t think it was so hard.”

“Har-har. Good one, Green. Really, though.”

Link let the paper fall to the floor and walked over to the back wall.

“Sorry, imp. It’s probably useless. Says we need a password. Want to go check outside, again?”

“Already did, while you were refamiliarizing yourself with the alphabet,” Midna said, popping back into view. “Hmm… password for what, though?”

“Don’t know. Royal secret service used the bar as an information drop off point. The note was addressed to a scout, so it may just be carelessly misplaced spy paraphernalia.”

She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “Sounds like a pretty crummy outfit, huh?”

“Not at all,” Link said with a frown, shaking his head and recalling his night spent in the bar. “They are usually fairly thorough...”

He let the thought hang in the air, playing through the entire evening in his head once more. The milk, the awkward conversation, the ambush… Hmm...

“Okay… I’ve got the password, but what…?”

Beyond the wall, a horse--unmistakably a horse--whinnied once more, sending the last piece of the puzzle tumbling in place. Link turned to face the back wall and spoke:

“Who sits on a throne of slaves.”

A series of mechanical clicks filled the air and a thin line running from floor to ceiling appeared between two panels on the wall. Neither Link nor Midna moved as one panel slid over the other to reveal a secret room. The horse, however, had been cooped up in the tiny space for too long. It bowled over the knight as it left, but thankfully stopped short of fleeing the stables entirely and running off into the night.

“Huh. Nice one, Green. You didn’t quite stick the landing, though.”

Link picked himself up, and after removing some of the hay that had become caught in his mail, peered into the secret closet. There wasn’t much to look at. To make room for the horse, several racks designed to hold various weapons had been pushed into a corner; except for a few daggers and a spear, they were currently empty. The only other furniture was a short table that was barren of all but two candle stubs and another note. Seeing nothing else of interest, Link snatched the paper and a spare dagger on his way out.

“Another note,” the knight announced to Midna, who thankfully hadn’t managed to scare off this horse yet. Unlike their last unfortunate steed, this one didn’t seem bothered by the imp. Link wondered if there was something wrong with its head.

“Well, come on. Don’t leave me in suspense. What does this one say?”

“Dunno. I can’t read,” the knight said, squinting at the lettering.

He was thankful that the snow had stopped, but even then it was no easy task to read the rushed writing. Midna floated over before he had even finished the first line, evidently too impatient to wait. He supposed that he shouldn’t be too surprised that the imp could also read in the near-darkness, the way she kept talking about “shadow this” and “twilight that”.

“Wait, so what--?” she asked before getting shushed by the knight, who was only halfway down the page.

This note read:

_We’re in deep shit, this time. They’ve got Zelda. The monsters that trashed the bar were just providing cover for their leader to ride right on by._

_It’s too early to say for sure that they are working with the Gerudo, but the timing seems way too suspicious to me. I think it is safe to assume the worst, though._

_Anyway, after the fighting stopped, we got orders from Impa. All green stripes are to focus on recovering the princess. Telma took a couple of claws during the fight (don’t worry, the old girl’s tougher than nails, she’ll pull through) and I’ve got too many injured and newly orphaned to look after to join the chase. We’re headed north. You can find us there to deliver your reports once Zelda is safe._

_By some miracle, Epona survived the fighting, so we’ve left her behind for your use. If any horse is going to catch up to the princess, it’ll be her._

_Stay safe. Ride hard._   
_-Shad_

“Okay, slowpoke. Quite the lucky break, huh? You awake enough to not fall out of the saddle?”

In truth, Link wasn’t sure, but he certainly wasn’t going to admit it to the imp.

“That depends,” he said, trying very hard to keep his eyelids from drooping. “Are you going to try to kill me this time, too?”

“Mmm… no promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, school is starting back up for me, so that means you'll probably receive few, if any, new chapters for a while. Who knows, maybe this semester won't be so crummy. 
> 
> In the meantime, why don't you write me a comment and let me know what you think so far?


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado, I present you uninterrupted travel banter and character building, completely ad-free for the next ~2300 words.*
> 
> *After which, you'll have to deal with life and stuff until next week. Sorry about that.

It had been an awful night, and as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, the princess knew the coming morning would be no better. At first, she wanted to blame her guards, but after thinking about it for hours on end, she found it increasingly difficult to hold resentment for those who had died for her safety. Those whose deaths had been ultimately futile.

No matter the end, her guards fought valiantly. She remembered adding her own voice to their ragged cheer after they finally brought down the first monster and sharing in their collective terror as a second, and then a third, and then a dozen or two leapt into the courtyard. It was then that they knew evacuation was the only path to survival--for the royal bloodline, the kingdom, and not least importantly, their own lives--but by then, it had been too late. Much too late.

So, unable to do anything now but mourn and pray for her slaughtered servicemen, the princess’ wrath turned elsewhere.

The ceremony had nearly finished, and some members of the clergy had already started tucking candles and censers into the folds of their vestments, no doubt eager to visit their various clandestine vices after sundown. Undisturbed by their commotion, Zelda prayed for the health and safety of her people, as she had since dawn that morning. This part of her coronation dated back as far as the kingdom itself, and breaking tradition could topple Hyrule’s ancient dynasty faster than the Gerudo could. The ceremony had another, less frequently discussed reason to persist through the ages. If not the goddesses’ support, the ceremony at least secured backing from the clergy, which in turn meant fewer headaches for her domestic strategists and ultimately the royal We. So, without complaint, she recited chants till her voice grew hoarse and knelt at the altar until she was sure her knees would give out and she would have to be carried to her bedchamber when the day finally came to an end.

Throughout it all, Zelda could hardly tell if the goddesses were even paying attention. The comfort and warmth that she usually felt at their altar was diminished by the chill in the air--quite an unusual occurrence this early in the season--and confused for the fickle heat from the sea of flickering candles. The burning incense made her head swim and the flood of ceremonial wine they incessantly offered threatened to drown her, yet she prayed on.

But then Zelda felt it: despite all the distractions, the goddesses were there. She captured their attention! In fact, their presence felt stronger than the princess ever recalled. With a start, Zelda realized that they weren’t just there to listen. At long last, they had something to tell her.

But when the sun disappeared below the horizon, when Zelda politely refused help getting up and made it apparent that she intended to pray for some time longer, the shrewd and the ambitious among the clergy rejoiced, while those who had been packing up dejectedly relit the doused candles and sticks of incense. The chanting grew louder and the air became even more saturated by the smell of burning herbs, the intonation of prayers, and the first impatient snowflakes from the dense clouds above.

In hindsight, she should have just asked them to leave. Asked them all to leave, guards included, and told them to take their smelly incense and obnoxious chants with them, because try as she might, she couldn’t make heads or tails of what the goddesses had to say. For hours and hours after sunset she waited, reciting every prayer she had ever heard and making up several on the spot, but to no avail. The goddesses were there, but if they were speaking at all, Zelda might as well have been deaf.

And so, sitting in her captor’s saddle, hands tied behind her back and to the saddle for good measure, she seethed with resentment like a cauldron of witch’s poison. But she brewed this foul draught not for her power-hungry priests or her guards, may they rest in peace. If she could, she would raise the decoction to the goddesses and command they take a sip. They, who had kept her there, in that deathtrap. They, who had teased guidance only to deliver a ruse. How could they not see this coming? Had they sided with the enemy?

She sighed. There was plenty of bitterness left over. Enough for her to drink her fill, too.

 _How could_ I _not see this coming?_ The princess silently asked herself.

And for not the first time, Zant answered.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, dear princess! Lord Ganondorf Dragmire has been planning this for quite some time, you know. Even with the wisdom of the goddesses, you could never hope to outwit him.”

They had stopped at the edge of the forest by a thin stream. The horse dipped its head for a drink. The shadow beasts ambled about, preferring the shade of the trees to the direct sunlight.

“Perhaps,” Zelda answered with a straight face. She couldn’t afford to let her emotions get the better of her, now. “But maybe I don’t need to outsmart _that_ pig. Maybe… I could just outsmart you.”

Zant giggled, turning around from the tree where he was relieving himself. “Good luck with that. I already took down one monarchy. Behave, or I won’t stop there.”

Just a little bit more. Think about the anger. Think about the resentment. Think about anything but that.

Zant looked up from lacing his trousers to narrow his eyes at his captive. “Think about what, princess? Come now, friends don’t keep secrets from friends.”

There!

In one fluid gesture, the princess slipped free of her bindings and kicked off from the saddle. A corner of her dress snagged on a clasp, but her outfit hardly even ranked on her list of concerns at the moment. Zant rushed forward, pants still partially undone, but by then it was too late. Zelda raised her hands over her head, spun around, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

“No! No, no, no, nonono, NO!” screamed Zant, stomping his feet in the beginnings of a fierce tantrum. His soldiers shot to attention, by now well familiar with the Usurper’s bouts of mania.

“Useless beasts! What are you doing, standing around? After her! Bring her back to me, alive!”

Across the stream, a figure slipped into the woods.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, what was the big deal with the guards back there? I didn’t think you were that ugly. Why did they attack you? Don’t you, like, work for this princess or something?”

Link had grown accustomed to those types of questions. And Midna had gotten used to waiting for a response. It became a game between them. The imp certainly had quite a bit to catch up on the happenings of the continent, considering that even her peoples’ best history books were thousands of years out of date. The knight, far from the best guide to the continent, filled her in the best he could. He couldn’t recall how or when the Ordonian ruling dynasty collapsed, for example, or even if Lord Bo still governed as steward to the vacant throne, but he could explain that their standing army had been in a sorry state for as long as he could remember. Errant knights made Ordonia a popular destination for that very reason.

As her latest query demonstrated, Midna’s curiosity wasn’t relegated to historical happenings. True to her word, her questions usually fell within the bounds of “quest-essential”, but several times he refused to answer nonetheless, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he’d rather not share. He considered giving this question the same treatment, but eventually decided against it. Surprisingly, the imp didn’t seem to mind too much when he wouldn’t or couldn’t answer. Her mood had improved dramatically after they started making headway with Epona. And in truth, he was thankful for their conversations. He was allowed a few questions in return, and their conversations kept him from falling asleep in the saddle.

“Where to start with that one…” Link finally said, letting the imp know that he hadn’t chosen to ignore the question.

“Heh, take your time. I know it must be hard, with that primitive Hylian brain of yours.”

Link rolled his eyes, although she was right: the question wasn’t an easy one. After more than a little deliberation, he stitched together what he felt was an appropriate answer.

“Wrong on both accounts, your highness. Knights don’t work under the employ of a crown. With the goddesses, it’s different. Farore interrupted my training, speaking of catastrophe unless I found Zelda. So, here I am.”

“Tch. Typical of them,” Midna said.

Link’s social encounters--not that they were typically very frequent or particularly fruitful--gave him ample evidence to sort most folk into one of three possible categories. Some people were apathetic to the divine trio (except, of course, when imperiled), while others practiced differing levels of piety (again, with notably more enthusiasm near danger). Still others readily blamed the goddesses for any and every misfortune to befall them, regardless of their current situation or poor life choices. Midna apparently subscribed to none of these ideologies. She was the first the knight met whose rancor toward the goddesses felt more than personal, and he suspected hers would be the last mouth to utter a repentant plea, even if faced with certain doom or damnation. Another detail fell upon his steadily growing pile of questions he lacked the courage to ask her.

“Wait. You said I was mistaken ‘on both accounts’. What gives?”

Link grinned, thinking back to his encounter with a particular fairy. “I have it on good authority that I’m quite the looker, actually. The guards were just jealous.”

A loud groan came from behind him. Link swiveled around fast enough to see a large orange appendage collide with his shoulder. There Midna floated, shaking her head slowly in mock disapproval. Or, very possibly, real disapproval. He could never be sure.

“Hey, that hurt!” the knight said in his head, attempting to continue their telepathic conversation. When her reply didn’t arrive immediately, he remembered they could only converse noiselessly while she hid in his shadow. Midna had explained it as “a limitation of her current form,” whatever that was supposed to mean. He repeated his message aloud, momentarily caught off guard by the almost unfamiliar voice that reached his ears.

“Serves you right,” came the audible reply before the imp slunk back into his shadow.

For a while, Link remained silent, and the imp only spoke to instruct him to take the left path at a fork. Epona’s gait became the only sound to disturb the still morning air, and it stayed that way for several minutes.

“You there, Midna?” Link asked, testing their connection.

Already, he had asked a question and received no answer simply because he hadn’t opened his mind enough, or some equally ridiculous explanation. And another time, he had done everything correctly, and the imp hadn’t responded just to tease him.

“Sure, Green. What’s up?”

Another pause.

“About the guard back there. The lieutenant. When I asked for her sword… you were going to kill her, weren’t you?”

Both the speed and emotionless nature of her response unsettled the knight. There wasn’t a hint of doubt in her voice.

“Yeah, I was. Why do you ask?”

“It wasn’t necessary! She wasn’t getting back up anytime soon.”

Link hoped that his blurted reply sounded better in the imp’s head than in his own.

Mercurial as she was, Midna’s mood was rarely a mystery to Link--at least when she was floating in front of him. He had discovered that picking up on shifts in tone was harder in their silent conversations. Through her apparent mastery of this form of communication, or perhaps just her proficiency with magic in general, the knight suspected that she could strip her projected voice of emotions if she wished, and he had a hunch that she was doing so now.

“We didn’t know that. She could have planted a dagger in your back while you were fussing with that horse, for all we knew. But enough about her. What’s with this sanctimonious attitude? I’ve seen you wield a sword, Green. You’re not exactly innocent either, are you?”

Link’s hands twitched on the reins. Memories flooded his thoughts before he could stop them or sever the ties of their psychic conversation. He wasn’t sure how much of the deluge she had seen by the time he regained control, but when the imp spoke next, her tone had shifted again. This time, the change was prominent, no doubt intended for notice. It softened.

“I don’t like killing,” she said. A pause, as if the garrulous gremlin had finally ran out of words to say. “It’s just the way it works--both your world, and mine. I’ve seen it first hand. Too.”

Perhaps she did it out of pity or, stranger yet, the slip was truly accidental. She didn’t say anything, but for a split second, Link imagined an ornate crown falling, falling, falling…

When she spoke next, her muffled voice emanated from one of the larger saddlebags.

“Maybe we’re not so different after all, huh?”

Link responded by gently patting the bag, earning a growl of warning. She grumbled something about losing a finger, yet although Link was fond and generally overprotective of all ten of his, he knew, judging from her tone, that not so much as a pinky faced any real danger.

Nonetheless, he made the tactical decision to give it a rest. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this semester may not be so bad, after all. I have a backlog again, although I once again am not sure how long I can sustain the weekly pace. Expect some turbulence.
> 
> On a different note, we've surpassed 1500 hits! You know me, numbers followed by zeroes make me happy. Thanks, guys!
> 
> You may have noticed that I've estimated how many chapters we've got left, and I've slightly updated the character roster. I'm not sure what I'm going to do when it's all done. Luckily, it's still far enough away so that I don't have to worry about anything for at least a while. Anyway, stay tuned for more Link, Midna, and (shortly) the rest of the gang!


	25. Chapter 25

“Hold up, Green. Getting more interference.”

Link didn’t need to be told twice. He tugged on the reins, and Epona obediently dropped to a trot before stopping altogether. The knight melted out of the saddle, just barely managing to keep his feet under him as they touched the ground.

Leaning against the horse, he let his thoughts drift as he stroked her mane. She deserved it, after all, carrying them through the remainder of the night and well through the morning with not so much as a complaint. She only just began to show signs of fatigue, but that wasn’t so much of a problem as Link had stopped trying to hide his own since dawn and he suspected that the imp had been napping on and off inside a spacious saddlebag. Still, they pressed forward, guided by Midna’s occasional updates on Zant’s location.

But now, as they approached the edge of a forest and the sun approached its zenith, it looked like they may be stopped for some time. Midna floated restlessly about, vibrating at different pitches now and then. With every passing minute, her frown deepened.

A brook babbled beside the road, so Link led the horse to the water and dropped to his knees to get a drink, as well. After a few minutes, several angry indications of magic, and multiple shouts of frustration, the imp plopped herself into the water a bit downstream.

“Anything?” Link asked, not hazarding a glance her way.

“Nothing.”

“We’ll find the trail again. He didn’t just disappear.”

No response. Link’s heart sunk.

“Wait, he can’t actually do that, right?” 

He heard a splash, and a dozen ripples passed underneath his cupped hands.

“I don’t know, Green! Every time I think, ‘no there’s no way he could pull that off’, he goes and does it! He’s been getting help from someone. Someone powerful. Does the name ‘Demise’ ring any bells?”

Link answered in the negative, peeking over the drinking horse.

“Yeah, figures. Sometimes I forget I’m talking to a recently-reformed mountain hermit. My bad.”

The imp sat in the stream, clutching her knees to her chest, though the water hardly rose past her belly. She gazed into the water, but Link couldn’t be certain of what she really saw. 

“Maybe, it’s just time to take a rest?” he asked, removing an apple from a saddlebag. “I understand that it’s different where you’re from, but us Hylians can’t go all day and all night without sleep.”

Epona whinnied, although Link couldn’t ascertain that she wanted a rest as well, or just the apple. She devoured the offered fruit either way.

“So, you’re tired. Boo-hoo. I bet your princess is tired of being kidnapped,” the imp said, floating into view while wringing out her hair with her hands.

“Midna, look at me,” the knight demanded. “I look like shit. Feel like it, too.”

Her appraisal formed a different conclusion, though she kept that thought to herself. “Actually, there may be something I can do about that last part. You’re stuck with that ugly mug, I’m afraid.”

The pit of Link’s stomach plummeted as a familiar smirk formed on the imp’s face. Familiar and dangerous, just like the hum filling the air. Before he even had the time to turn away, Midna’s eyes flashed. His Triforce fragment flared, but the pain didn’t last long. Instead, a different discomfort displaced it: his nose itched something fierce.

As the knight went to scratch it, he became aware of the other changes induced by the spell. His desire to curl up into a ball and hibernate--only moments earlier, an overwhelming urge--had diminished so considerably that Link couldn’t recall a time he had ever felt so well rested. The kink in his back from several nights spent in a bedroll spread over unforgiving ground no longer troubled him, and neither did his sore feet from weeks on the road. One by one, all of his aches and ailments melted away.

“So, how do you feel? Pretty powerful stuff, right? Just don’t get too used to it. I’ve heard that its effects can be habit forming, and this is one you really don’t want to get hooked on.”

“Wait,” Link asked, incredulous, “did you just drug me?”

The imp refused to make eye contact, instead focusing on twirling a thick strand of hair around one of her stubby fingers.

“Well, technically not. But the magical equivalent of laudanum mixed with a generous helping of… oh, what do they call it in this language? Stardust? Yeah, pretty much. But you should be able to go at least another eight hours now. Come on, maybe I’ll have better luck picking up Zant’s location down the road.”

Midna turned and started to float down the road, and the sound of horseshoes falling on the cobblestones informed her that Epona had decided to follow. Only when a sniffle reached her ears did she realize that Link hadn’t budged an inch. She spun around, planting her hands on her hips.

“What’s the holdup, Link? Upset by my means of motivation, again?”

Link scowled. “Mildly, yes. You could have given me a warning, at least. But there’s something else. I think I’ve got a lead.”

“Sure,” Midna said, stretching the word out to double its duration and adding an eyeroll for good measure. “You know, I only gave you a pick-me-up, not proficiency in divination magic.”

Link paid the imp no heed. Instead, he turned back the way they had come, and practically pounced on something lying in the grass.

“Aha!” he shouted. Still on his knees, he held the strip of white fabric above his head so that the imp could see. With furrowed brows, she drifted back to the knight and plucked the cloth from his hands.

“Congrats? You got a rag. Wait… is that cambric?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the knight said, pretending to know what cambric even was. “Smell it. This belonged to Zelda.”

The imp scrunched up her nose in protest, but the knight was not wrong. A series of smells tag-teamed her nostrils: smoke from a dozen different herbs, a pleasant floral perfume, and the faint aroma of black tea. In sum, three smells no commoner could afford.

“I suppose it does smell princess-ey enough,” the imp admitted, although she thought little of Zelda’s choice of fragrances. When not off galavanting through foreign worlds in the body of a munchkin, she usually opted for the subtle and refined fragrance of lilac and gooseberries.

“Well, so what? We already knew they traveled this way. Are you telling me you’ve stopped just for a reminder of your pretty princess?”

“Midna!” Link snapped, snatching the fabric back. “This is it. I can track them with this.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let his nose point him in the right direction. When he opened them, he was facing the forest.

“Since when did you get a nose like a mutt’s?” she asked, inspecting the schnoz in question. It appeared a touch ruddy, but otherwise unchanged. Finally, the imp threw her hands up into the air with a huff.

“You know what? Fine. I can’t even get a read on Zant. If this is the best lead we’ve got, then so be it.”

Link nodded, sniffed, and then hopped on Epona. He opened a saddlebag, an invitation for the imp, but she leapt into his shadow instead.

Across the stream, at the forest’s edge, several deep trenches had been gouged from the bark of trees and the dirt--claw marks of a kind they had seen before. This evidence convinced even the imp that they were on the right trail, one that led deeper and deeper into the forest. As they progressed through the increasingly dense underbrush, the trees seemed to tighten around them as if to swallow them whole. Between the fog and the canopy of leaves that dampened even the bright afternoon sun, Link couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking straight down the gullet of a waiting, starving beast.

Epona, however, trotted on as if she were leading Castle Town’s royal parade. The horse deserved every word of praise that Shad’s letter had given her. Although the hostile terrain prevented the party from traveling with the speed they had on the road, Epona pushed aside underbrush that would have been a nightmare to wade through on foot.

Several hours passed this way. Link was sure that the sun still shone above them, but at times the woods were dark enough to make him wonder. More than once he almost lost the trail, and several times they had to turn back and look for a new way to proceed, for the forest was too dense for even Epona. At first the knight thought Midna was being ridiculous when she said that she spotted faces among the trees, but after a while, he started to notice them, too. Even Epona’s ears perked up a little when a twig snapped in the distance. The fog thickened to the consistency of pea soup, and the companions were left to navigate primarily by sound and smell.

The first two pulses the knight hardly noticed, and were dismissed with just as little thought. The Triforce’s third caught him by surprise. It was far less gentle than those previous. His hand lurched to the hilt of his blade, drawing it halfway. Only halfway. For sure, his hyper-sensitive nose would have been the first to detect trouble, followed shortly by his ears. Once again he disregarded the warning, although not before Midna shot him an inquisitive look. It was no more than just another side effect of that spell, he reasoned. While the imp had stopped short of apologizing, the knight did get her to admit that she hadn’t given much thought for potential consequences.

By the fourth pulse, the golden triangle had stopped asking for his attention. It demanded it, and refused to take no for an answer. For half a minute Link’s hand burned, overpowering even the painkiller in the imp’s spell and almost sending him to the ground from Epona’s saddle. For half a minute the imp wondered if more sedative would kill the pain or the knight himself, while Epona whinnied nervously below it all.

And then it was gone, and whatever remained of Midna’s magical medicine soothed the sting beyond the point where the knight could even feel a dull throb. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and looked around, but the forest appeared unchanged. Link picked up the reins and gave them a timid flick, but to his surprise, Epona did not budge.

“Come on, old girl. Everything’s all right, now,” Link whispered, though the horse’s unusual refusal convinced him that he was lying.

Midna tugged his sleeve, and when Link looked over, he was amazed to find that her eyes had swelled to the size of saucers.

“Green. You should turn around. Slowly,” she whispered.

Shifting around in the saddle, Link came face to face with a second pair of eyes, these amber-colored and unblinking. Their green irises glowed through the gloom, but not nearly as brightly as the two fairies that fluttered around its shoulders.

And then the laughter started.

How one windpipe could produce such a sound, Link would never know. At least, he only hoped there was only one of them. He refused to imagine that the forest was full of such creatures, each contributing to the cackling.

The horse broke free from her stupor first. Before Link could issue a command, Epona accelerated again, causing Midna to cling to a tear in the knight’s mail or get left behind. For one frightful moment, the horse reared back and threatened to spill the riders, but Link had learned from experience and held on tight. The mare recovered, but by now the laughter had caught back up to them, and Link saw the twin streaks of light dart past his vision, one white and the other violet. Midna secured herself in the knight’s shadow as their mount dashed off once more.

“What the hell is that thing?” Link screamed in his head, struggling to open his mind so Midna could hear.

“How would I know?” came the imp’s response. “This isn’t even my world, and that thing definitely didn’t come from mine!”

The horse raced past a particularly tight cluster of trees, revealing a small clearing a short distance off to the right. Tugging on the reins failed to even grab Epona’s attention, however; heedless of the potential safety of the glade, she charged past.

That is, until the creature stepped from behind a tree directly in front of them. Time seemed to slow, and Link finally got a good look at the creature. Its clothes were altogether unremarkable, just woven grass and straw in various earthen shades, but the creature’s mask was a different story. Link’s Triforce hummed faintly as he stared at the spikes that adorned its edges and the cracks that marked the relic’s age.

If objects could bear ill will, Link decided, then that mask wished for the whole world to meet a terrible fate. For the moment, however, it seemed content just to ruin his day. Epona reared again, and once more Link grabbed two fistfuls of mane and clenched his thighs that burned from exertion even despite the magical laudanum.

Epona’s hooves returned to the forest floor and the horse dashed off once more--this time, in the direction of the clearing. Link’s heart soared at the possibility of the sun’s light, warmth, and most welcome, safety. Merely a tad further…

Neither horse, nor imp, nor rider saw the claws lunge from their hiding place at the edge of the clearing or the rest of the twisted creature attached to them. Not until it was too late, anyway. 

Midna, ever attuned to the shadows, spotted it first, but her psychic shriek of alarm did not help the horse. It gave Link a nosebleed and a headache, but that ranked among the least of his concerns. 

If Epona ever even saw the brute that lunged from the shaded treeline, she didn’t slow or change course. Straight forward she charged, as if a chort itself were on her tail. Perhaps it was to her favor. The shadow beast hadn’t anticipated her sudden burst of speed; in consequence, his claws missed her neck entirely, instead catching her flank and the hem of Link’s mail. Either way, the collision was rough. They were going down.

Their momentum carried them several meters past the entrance of the glade, but no member of the dogpile had any time to inspect their surroundings. The fall was anything but graceful. The shadow beast ended up on the bottom of it all, though it did little to cushion the fall for Link. The knight’s teeth clattered during the impact, but that was his only indication of the extent of his body’s damage. He hoped he hadn’t actually broken his leg this time. 

Noble Epona crushed both her rider and her attacker underneath as she fell, despite every effort spent trying to keep her hooves underneath her. She pressed the air from Link’s lungs and had an even greater effect on the shadow beast. It issued one final, defiant bark and went still.

“Midna? Please tell me you’re not buried under all this horse.” Link said, learning--the hard way--that Epona made for one suffocating blanket.

As if in protest, Epona huffed. Her flank still rose and fell with an even rhythm, easing some of Link’s worries. The voice in his head resolved most of what remained.

“No,” Midna replied, “but I’m just as stuck as you are, till you can make enough of a shadow for me to rematerialize.”

The knight attempted to sit up to check for their pursuer and offer the imp some space, but he failed at both tasks. Afternoon sun shone straight in his face, ensuring that he would create only a sliver of shadow and see neither the fairies nor the disturbing eyes even if they were waiting by the edge of the forest. In defeat, Link let himself fall back on the soft grass, just in time to see a pair of silent, linen-wrapped feet approach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter. Enjoy!


	26. Chapter 26

“Two travelers taking the road south, sir!” the man appointed to the role of lookout reported to the spy who was, like usual, scribbling in a hefty tome.

“South, you say?” Shad asked, snapping his book shut and climbing the two stacked crates that served as their makeshift lookout post. He accepted the spyglass offered to him--his own tool, on loan to the watchman--and peered down the polished brass barrel after removing his spectacles.

Sure enough, two Hylians and a horse-drawn cart descended from the mountainous highlands. It wasn’t a common occurrence, not since the whispers of war started spreading like wildfire through Hyrule’s population. People rode north if they could, and walked the same route if they couldn’t. And Shad couldn’t blame them. The common folk were tired of the wars, perhaps even more than the nobles who funded them. It was the everyday people, after all, whose farmland was repeatedly rinsed red with blood and whose crops were trampled into the ground regardless of the season. If not with their lives, in uniform and armed with pitchforks and spears, the people paid for the war in other ways.

In truth, Shad was no different, though his armaments tended to be a bit less crude than surplus farm equipment. He fingered the stiletto in his pocket for what must have been the eighth time that hour. The further the Gerudo marched north, the more its weight became a comfort to him. He had fully expected to die back in the Kingfisher, to be opened up by an opponent who packed not one blade, but five on each hand; to them, his stiletto was no more threatening than a child’s wooden sword. But then, without warning, they pulled back and vanished into the darkness. Vanished, taking with them Hyrule’s only hope of winning the war.

Oh, the war would be fought, all right. Shad handed the spyglass back to the lookout, patting him on the back with a thin smile. Once word gets out, the kingdom will rally under the banners of “Blood for Blood!” and “Avenge our Princess!”, but very soon the people would tire of fighting for a country with no heir, ruled by a state with no head. Bleeding for the memory of a monarch isn’t quite as exciting as bleeding for the real deal, yet the people would do it anyway. For a time. And once that time expires, the war would be over in days.

Shad passed a figure sitting on the ground against a barrel of salted pork. He was not comforted by the amount of crimson seeping through the bandages he had changed only hours ago.

“How are we doing, old girl? You aren’t going to leave the Stripes for me to deal with, are you?” asked Shad.

Telma grinned. Shad could’ve sworn that two new lines had etched themselves into her face since he last looked, but he supposed that everyone was starting to show signs of age. Wartime did that to people.

“What? Put you in charge? Wouldn’t dream of it, darling. Not before my time, anyway. And besides, Ashei’s been eyeing that promotion for quite some time now. I heard that she’s sick of guard duty.”

 _More than you’d know,_ thought Shad, although he decided to keep that bit of news to himself. The portly woman didn’t need any new grey hairs.

“Well, you’d better check on the others. I’m not going to keel over. At least not until you get back here, anyway.”

Shad nodded and entered the ring of wagons in various states of disrepair that served as their camp. Too few draft animals survived yesterday’s slaughter for them to make it far. Shad had warned the survivors of this, but fear overwhelmed any rational thoughts of returning to Castle Town. Instead, they set off almost on the shadow beast’s heels, determined now more than ever to flee north. Before nightfall, two horses and a donkey had succumbed to their wounds, crippling the caravan’s progress. Shad heaved a sigh of relief when the desperate survivors decided against splitting up and instead made camp beside the main road.

Even Shad was impressed at their collective efforts. The sick and injured received treatment, the food was collected, consolidated, and rationed without serious objection, and the surplus of volunteers for watch duty let Shad grab a few hours of sleep when he was sure that the camp was in good hands.

Morale, nonetheless, remained low. As he passed, Shad offered to take a turn at the shovel from a kid who rivaled the spade in height. To the spymaster’s surprise, the kid declined.

“I’m gonna dig… and dig…” the tyke said, and a fresh wave of tears prepared themselves to fall from his eyes.

Shad offered the goddesses a prayer as he passed the body wrapped in a blanket lying next to a cart filled with more of the same. He received a reply more quickly than expected.

“Goddesses bless ye, Shad!” an old lady said as he approached the fire. She scooted over on her bench to provide him room to sit, but he declined; he’d be needed by the road to meet the approaching travelers before long, and only came to inspect the fire. He tossed another log onto the flames as he left. They were starting to run low, and soon they’d be faced with the choice of burning the belongings stored in their wagons or devoting more hands to collect firewood. Shad didn’t know if they had the hands to spare, but despite his reputation, people might not take kindly to his suggestion, should he recommend tossing their heirloom furniture into the embers.

Just two more days. The messenger said that Castle Town could spare the troops in two days to send supplies and enough animals to get everyone to the next town along the northern route the following day.

A commotion at the front of the camp greeted the scholar as he approached.

“Look at that cart. A merchant’s, for sure. That means supplies!”

“Who’s that with him? Does he have a daughter?”

“I pity the man. He probably has to deal with people like you wherever he goes.”

The assembled crowd parted before Shad, revealing a stout, balding man conversing with the lookout from a safe distance. The second traveler hid behind the horse that she tended, though the way her blonde hair caught the dying sunlight no doubt attracted any onlooker’s attention. The men seemed to reach an agreement, and the traveler motioned towards his companion. Their cart followed them as they slowly made their way off the road toward the camp.

Shad moved to intercept, hand extended for a shake. The old man took and shook it. There was a practiced quality to the act, like the way a fisherman might cast his reel or a blacksmith might pound steel.

“I thank ye for your hospitality, mister. Seems we weren’t the only folk to run into a spot o’ trouble on th’ road, eh?”

A thin smile spread across the man’s face. Shad adopted one to match, though his natural instinct would be to scowl at the attempt of an accent. Or rather, the deliberate exaggeration of the mild Ordonian lilt. Try as he might to make himself appear so, this man was no country bumpkin.

“Nowhere’s safe, these days. Traveling to the capital?”

“Wasn’t the original plan, but it be the truth, mister.”

“Not very many coming from Ordonia,” Shad stated, narrowing his eyes. “What could be worth the risk, this close to the border?”

Shad was nearly as skilled at reading people as he was books. But this man was good, even if his faked accent was lacking. The traveler took a step towards his wagon, signaling that their conversation had ended.

“Like I said, mister, me an’ my daughter here hadn’t planned to find ourselves this far south. Pleasant evening to ye.”

Shad had half a thought to pull rank and see for himself what, exactly, this “merchant” peddled, but thought better of it. The crowd dispersed, partially reforming around the fire so its members could claim their evening dole. The scholar followed suit, not necessarily looking forward to the hard biscuits and watery ale, but not particularly fond of going hungry, either. He had just reached the front of the line when, once again, the lookout’s shout broke through the chatter. He slipped from the queue and made his way up the lookout’s post.

“One more, from the south this time,” he said, growing disappointed when he didn’t see food in Shad’s hands. The scholar caught on and dismissed the man for the night, who happily obliged and had already made it halfway to the campfire before he remembered to return the spyglass.

Shad sat down, letting his legs dangle over the side of the box, and pressed the tool to his eye. After aligning the lens with the figure, he tore it from his eye and wiped the glass with the sleeve of his shirt and repeated the process.

Sure enough, a figure sporting twin braids and the crossbows to match came strolling up the southerly road. Three days ago, Shad would have considered the green of her tunic an unmistakable feature, but it had been a weird three days.

“Linkle!” Shad shouted from his perch once she drew closer. The scout hurried over to the scholar and embraced him before a firm “ahem” caused her to leap back and form a hasty salute.

“Oops, sorry about that, captain. It’s just good to see that you’re safe. You guys really didn’t make it far, did you?”

Shad groaned, dismissing the question with the wave of his hand.

“We’re fine. But where is Epona? Did they already recover the princess?”

“Ahh… about that. The door to the hidden room was wide open when I got there, and Epona was long gone. Ashei was waiting in what’s left of the inn, looking fairly beat up. Said one of those mutants got her, that you needed… wait, what’s so funny?”

Shad couldn’t help it. Too long had passed since he had let himself laugh, and now, he couldn’t stop.

“Oh, of course! I’ll bet he’s got Epona, too. And I told him the passcode. Ah, ahahah. I’m sorry about the long walk, then, Linkle. You have me to blame for that.”

He responded to her bewildered expression with a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Go, get some rest. You can deliver your report in the morning. There’s no point in chasing the princess now, anyway, not when every damn horse in this country is either more fit for pulling a plow or patrolling the border.”

He climbed the lookout perch before turning back to the scout and adding, “But it’s good to see you too, Linkle.”

The scout studied the captain for some time. The way his shoulders slumped, the dark bags under his eyes not quite concealed by the frame of the glasses he wore--nothing escaped her marksman’s gaze. She really wished he would sleep more.

 _Maybe then, he’d make more sense,_ she thought as she ventured closer to the fire.

She could feel the survivor’s eyes as she stepped into the line for food, but enough of the bar’s regulars recognized her that nobody objected.

With her dinner in hand, Linkle scanned the campsite for a place to sit. Several groups of men sat in tight circles and ate in silence. It was hard to imagine that, only days prior, they had raised enough ruckus to shake the very foundations of the Capricious Kingfisher.

The children whose parents still lived typically sat with them, forming little enclaves of their own. The handful of other children--goddesses, why were there so many of them?--sat around the fire, largely imitating their elders.

Linkle hated that she wasn’t young enough to fit in with the children, but didn’t feel comfortable enough to approach one of the groups of adults, either. She was ready to take her meal back to the front of the camp to eat with Shad when she spotted another girl, about her age, sitting alone at the front of her wagon. Bingo.

“Hello. May I sit with you?” she asked.

“Oh,” the other girl replied, blinking several times as if waking from a dream. “Yes, of course. Here let me just scooch over a bit… there.”

The scout plopped herself down, almost fumbling a biscuit in the process. “The name’s Linkle.”

“I’m Ilia,” the girl said. Her eyes darted from the crossbows strapped to the scouts waist to her twin braids. Unsure how to react to the former, she decided to compliment the latter.

“Your hair is very pretty,” she said. “It’s the same color as someone’s I used to know.”

Linkle, in turn, was more ready to detail the draw strengths and stopping power of her weapons than discuss her hair. She offered a clumsy thanks and started into a biscuit, being very careful not to bite too hard, lest she break a tooth. Undeterred, Ilia continued.

“It reminds me of the style of hair the girls back home wear. But you aren’t from Ordonia, are you?”

Linkle shook her head, swallowed hard, and ran a braid through her fingers. “It’s just the way my mother always wore hers. She might’ve been from Ordonia, I think, but we didn’t stay there for long after I was born.”

Ilia noticed in the scout’s voice a specific quality she had previously only detected in folk older than the girl who sat besides her: loss. Longing. A moment of silence passed between the two, disturbed only by the unpleasantly audible crunch of biscuits.

“Where are you and yours heading?” Linkle asked, the first to break the silence.

“Originally? That old knight’s hideout, up in the mountains. Dad had business there. Political business.”

“Oh?” Linkle replied. This was getting interesting. Nobody had political business in the knights’ Keep--its residents prized their purported neutrality above almost all else. What could bring a merchant all the way from Ordonia to the knight’s stronghold? Unless…

“Say, Ilia, what does your father hope to sell in this cart?”

The other girl’s eyes grew wide and her mouth moved up and down, but for several seconds no words came out.

“Uhh… you know, knights’ things. Swords and stuff… I think?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Linkle said, bringing her voice down to barely a whisper. “You can tell me.”

Some mischievous element of the scout’s tone--or perhaps the gleam in her eye--enticed the merchant’s daughter: the same promise of excitement that compelled her to join her father on this adventure in the first place. She bit her lip, weighing her options. Surely, Bo wouldn’t be too upset…

“Alright, you got me,” Ilia confessed with a giggle. She scooted closer to the scout.

“So, my dad’s not _really_ a merchant. He’s actually… he’s the steward to the throne of Ordonia. Well, he _was_ the steward--now it’s some other poor sap’s turn. Anyway, the current steward called in a favor. We didn’t go visit those dreadful knights to trade, but to buy soldiers for the war.”

“No way!” exclaimed Linkle, feigning surprise. It produced the exact intended effect on Ilia: the girl chewed her bottom lip and peeked over her shoulder before taking a breath and delving into the tale. She detailed every aspect of her trip, not even glossing over her first encounter with a knight on the road to the Keep that one dreadful night. She accepted both Linkle’s offered handkerchief and embrace, and spent several pleasant minutes in her arms before continuing the story.

“So… where were we? Right. I met back up with my dad and we finally made it to the top, but they didn’t even listen to our proposition! We were ready to give them half the royal treasury, but they wouldn’t even listen!”

 _Sounds about right,_ Linkle thought, but once again kept the thought to herself. Instead, she sought confirmation for another hunch.

“So wait, what are the two of you doing here, then? Ordonia is the other way, isn’t it?”

“Well, when borrowing a cup of sugar, if your first neighbor doesn’t have any to spare… I guess we’ll see if Hyrule has any soldiers to lend us.”

“Maybe, maybe…”

No, Linkle knew the answer with certainty.

The campfire’s heat dwindled and the stairs crept from their day-time hiding places across the sky as the girls conversed. Finally, Linkle slipped away from Ilia, only then noticing the nip in the air.

Ilia stood up too, reaching for Linkle’s hand.

“After all this… if you ever find yourself in Ordonia, Linkle, you should stop by.”

This time, Linkle’s smile was genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another. It's pretty difficult to find the time to write these, so I'm pretty happy about actually getting another one of these uploaded and everything.
> 
> As we approach our eventual climax, expect to hear more bits and pieces of the story from different character's view, as I did with this one. It's very Sapko-like and enables me to flush out more of what's going on behind the scenes. I'd love to hear what you think about it, or other things in general.


	27. Chapter 27

The linen-wrapped feet were only motionless for a moment before they disappeared from view in a flurry. Link’s eyes gave chase and his head jerked to follow, but he was too slow. The knight could hardly hear the footfalls or the whistle of several objects flying through the air, but he could hear the sound they made as they found their targets. And the successive yelps of agony. And the dying barks of two more shadow beasts.

Just as the pinned creature’s elbow, digging into Link’s stomach, started to grow uncomfortable, the pressure relented. Following a muffled _Pop!_ , the rest of the corpse started to twitch and contract, growing smaller until it no longer pressed against Link at all. The knight twisted and crawled on his elbows, finding just enough space to squirm free. Midna slipped from his shadow and extended her extra hand to help Link to his feet. Once upright, the knight unsheathed his sword, but there was no need. To his left, the remnants of another shadow beast dissipated with a _Pop!_ , and to his right his savior bent down to retrieve a handful of silver needles from a shrinking purple mess. Another _Pop!_ later, the clearing was purged of the last remnants of the creatures.

Link scanned the treeline for any other threats, but the forest was calm. He sheathed his sword and turned back to the figure to offer his thanks, but to his surprise, he couldn’t spot them, either.

“Midna? Did you see where--”

Out of the corner of his eye, a silver streak connected with the imp. She only managed a squeak before tumbling out of the air. Link lunged, grabbing the limp imp just before she hit the ground. Cradling her in one arm, he drew his sword with the other and spun about.

With a brace of gleaming needles between the knuckles on each hand, the figure stood a short distance behind them. The long trails of their linen wraps and braided ponytail danced in the wind. Link had never seen a blue as deep as the hue that dyed the stranger’s tight suit, nor did he recognize the eye-and-teardrop emblem on their shirt. The brown eyes that bored into his own were not kind.

“What--” Link started, only to bite his tongue as he parried a needle aimed at the imp in his arms. He didn’t even see the needle leave the stranger’s hand, but sure enough, they held one fewer.

“You do realize that the creature you carry--that you protect--is one of _them_ , don’t you? Put it down and let me finish it off, or do it yourself. Then we can talk.”

“No, wait. You don’t understand,” Link said, but this time two slivers of silver darted toward him. He parried both with a single swipe, but only just barely.

“I see. You are under its spell. So be it.” The figure rolled their shoulders and loosened their footing.

Three needles this time, the whole left hand. Link deflected two. He only attempted to deflect two, instead turning at the last possible second so that his shoulder, not Midna’s forehead, caught the third. It sunk an inch past his armor, and bypassed the magical painkiller as well.

The stranger wasn’t content to sit still. They closed the distance between them in the bat of an eye, knife angled for Link’s jugular. The knight’s guard rose to meet the blade, but by then the knife had already changed hands, and now arced towards the imp. Link once again managed to twist away at the last second, causing the blade to glance off his mail instead. The ninja flipped backwards and restocked their supply of needles from a pouch strapped to their thigh.

Meanwhile, Link felt the imp stir in his arms. She hissed as she tore the spike from her back and tossed it to the ground. A slow vibration grew till the chainmail on the arm holding her started to clink and rattle as well.

“Midna,” Link whispered between gritted teeth. A warning. The hum only grew louder.

This time, Link noticed the silver needles leave the stranger’s hands. All six of them. Without thinking, his grip loosened on his sword and his fingers traced a sign. A shiver passed through his body as blue crystals spun around him, conjured from thin air. The needles collided with the shield of ice and spun off at wild angles. Even his opponent paused for a moment to marvel at the feat of magic before zig-zagging forward at a dizzying pace. Link held his blade primed not only to parry, but to counterattack. This had gone on for long enough, and Link was certain that the magical numbness was already starting to fade, judging by the needle’s sting.

Neither got the chance to act. Midna leapt from Link’s arm and wrapped the ninja up in an orange fist. She held her hands out in front of Link, hoping to prevent an accidental--or deliberate--haircut.

“Relax, Green. I won’t crush this one like an insect. Yet.”

“Link! Tell that thing to unhand me at once,” the stranger demanded, but if anything, Midna’s grip grew tighter.

“Why does everyone seem to know who I am before I even introduce myself?” Link asked, exasperated. He plucked the silver needle from his arm and tossed it to the ground.

“Hyrule hasn’t forgotten its Hero, Link. The murals our kingdom painted of you have hardly even dried! Now, snap out of it and help me!”

Midna and Link shared a puzzled glance.

“This guy? A hero? That’s rich. Look, Needles, just tell us how you killed those shadow beasts and we’ll be on our merry way. I’ll even overlook your insult: mistaking me for one of _them_. How does that sound?”

Needles’ eyes narrowed, and their snarl could be sensed through the face wraps they wore.

“She has been helpful,” the Definitely-Not-A-Hero added, surprising even himself with his contribution to the imp’s credibility. _Gotta give the girl credit where credit’s due, I suppose._

“So wait… you’re telling me that you _aren’t_ the Hero of Time? Oh, goddesses above. Who are you, then?”

“Uhh… Link. Of Ordonia, if it matters. Just Link if it doesn’t.”

“Well, Just Link, have your… friend here kindly release me. I can share with you my techniques, sure, but I can do much better. You are here for Princess Zelda, yes? Don’t give me that look. I know what you’re after. She’s… she’s waiting for you. I can take you to her.”

Midna’s grip tightened further. “You know where she is? Then where is Zant?”

“Is she safe?” Link asked, once again scanning the clearing, and once again finding nothing.

“Yes, no clue, and that depends--” the stranger choked out. Link elbowed the imp’s belly, loosening her grip. After filling their lungs with air, the ninja seized the opportunity to wriggle free and slipped through the top of the fist, landing on their hands then springing to their feet.

“Lovely. Now then, bring that creature if you must, Just Link, but meet me at the temple half a day’s march east of here. I find it unlikely that you will be able to miss it. Zelda will wait for you there.”

The stranger brought their hands above their head. An object reminiscent of an acorn fell from their hands and burst into smoke upon striking the ground. Link readied his sword, but no needles flew from the cloud. By the time the smoke cleared, no trace of the ninja remained.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Midna hadn’t said a word since the party left the clearing. After helping Epona to her feet and ensuring that her scratches were properly treated, she skulked in Link’s long shadow as they marched, who opted to let Epona rest rather than bear a rider. After the adrenaline from their earlier flight and subsequent fight started to wear out, an ache crept into the knight’s body accompanied by the exhaustion from earlier--with interest. Each step became more arduous than the last, yet to Link’s surprise, the imp said nothing. She remained mute as his pace slowed to a crawl. No telepathic questions interrupted his thoughts, and no laughter rang around his head when he stumbled for the first time. Or the second.

That time, he didn’t even feel himself fall. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, Epona’s nose was gently prodding the back of his head. Getting up was painful--indeed, only possible thanks to a large tree that so graciously offered its support.

Two more steps, and Link settled himself back on the ground, back against the hospitable plant. He slipped the backpack off his arms and unslung the sword from his back. He could do without a fire; the night wasn’t cold enough to merit the strain of gathering wood. A whistle later and Epona trotted over, kneeling down so that Link could grab some apples. The last two. His stomach grumbled, but nonetheless he paid the horse’s tribute. Still weary of the forest’s inhabitants and quite possibly grateful for the equitable distribution of snacks, the horse settled down next to the knight, allowing him to stroke her mane.

Midna materialized as the knight dug a knife from his pack. She carried something behind her back, out of sight, but her twin red orbs refused to meet the knight’s for questioning.

Link didn’t pry, instead focusing all his attention on the apple so that he wouldn’t cut himself. Exhaustion did strange things to hand-eye coordination, after all.

“Here,” Link said, offering the first slice to the imp. He didn’t expect her to accept his offer. In fact, he still hadn’t seen her eat anything, although he did notice that the jerky packed in Epona’s saddlebags depleted at a faster rate than Link himself could account for. The apples, for whatever reason, had not.

To his surprise, the imp repositioned whatever she was holding behind her back and floated closer. She plucked the apple slice from Link’s hand and retreated a short distance. The knight chuckled as she cautiously sniffed the fruit, but his mirth ceased when he was reminded just how pointy her teeth were as she opened her mouth wide. The fruit vanished, and after a couple seconds of thoughtful chewing, her eyes lit up and the imp executed a little flip in the air. Link caught a glimpse of the object she briefly forgot she was trying to conceal. It was suspiciously green.

“Not bad, huh?” Link asked, already cutting the next slice.

“Mhm,” the imp replied, then swallowed. “We’ve got something like that back home, but it isn’t sweet at all. I like the light world’s version better.”

The apple wasn’t enough to buoy Midna’s spirit for long, however. A frown returned to her face before they even finished the apple, and the rest of the meal passed in silence, notably lacking further mirth or acrobatics.

Not nearly sated but exhausted of mind, body, and additional options, Link allowed himself to drift off into something that resembled sleep. Until, that is, Midna’s voice interrupted him.

“Green? Got a minute?”

The knight’s eyelids flicked open and something unintelligible spilled from his lips. The imp took it as a yes, and floated closer.

A green cap rested in her hands. She held it out to the knight.

“Wha…?” Link managed, a proper achievement given his mental state.

“You dropped this,” she said, staring at the hat rather than him. “I, uh, grabbed it as we fled.”

Link actually produced a full word this time. “Why?”

“Heh. Well, I originally intended to use it as another form of motivation, but, well, you hardly needed persuasion. For the most part.”

“But… why now?”

Midna let out a sigh that made Link reevaluate just how much of the imp was lungs. “Well, you found your princess. She’s in that temple, but Zant’s still out there, somewhere. So, I figured that this is where we part ways. I doubt this silly little hat has the capacity to convince you to abandon your princess.”

Link scrunched up his face and rubbed his eyes. “No…”

“Alright, you got me. It’s not all _that_ silly, I suppose. In fact, I think it’s cute on you. But anyway, good luck with Zelda, Green.”

“No, that’s--that’s not what I meant. Have you gotten another lock on Zant?”

_Cute? Huh._

“What? No. I think there’s something up with this forest. Finding anything here by magic seems nigh impossible. You remember, I couldn’t even conjure a compass. If it weren’t for the sunset, we wouldn’t even know which direction to start walking.”

Link sat up. “So, what’s the point of splitting up? Chances are, Zant’s still keen on recapturing Zelda, anyway. Without magic, that’s probably the best place to start looking for him.”

Midna tapped her chin. “I guess so…”

“Besides,” Link continued, starting to speak faster than what he usually considered as within the “safe” parameters, “the goddesses just told me to find Zelda. Once I do that, who knows? Maybe I’ll have some time off, and we can look for Zant. He’s not exactly my favorite person in the world, either.”

Midna’s eyes were practically the size of dinner plates. Red, misty plates, rubbed every so often to prevent the welling of tears at the bottom.

“Really, Green?”

Link nodded. Slowly, solemnly. A promise.

Midna cleared her throat and blinked the tears away. “I mean, you sure you can handle another couple of days with me?”

“Hasn’t killed me yet,” the knight replied, though in truth, it had come close several times. He lifted the cap to his head and slipped it on, attempting a smile in the process. He succeeded.

“I… you… thanks. Thank you, Link.”

“Oh, so Her Majesty finally deigns to call me by my real name?”

“Shut it, you mutt," she said, slamming a grey fist into his shoulder with no real malice. "I’ll call you by whatever I damn well please. Be grateful that, most of the time, I use pleasant words.”

Link just rolled his eyes. Then closed them.

Midna slowly floated over to the tree trunk and gingerly settled herself next to the knight, resting her head against his thigh just below the chainmail’s skirt.

Link waited for her to get settled before asking, “So... cute, huh?”

Midna shot into the air, buzzing like a bee’s nest.

“It was… I… I was appealing to your ego! See! It worked. Foolish Hylian! Now you’re stuck with me. Go… go to sleep. Stop talking now.”

Link obliged. He was long asleep, with the corners of his mouth still curled in the vestiges of a smile, when Midna settled herself back down in the same spot as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? I'd love to hear them.
> 
> Question of the chapter: Is it at all obvious that I (attempt to) play the Zelda-characters in Smash Bros?


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Hold on to your hats, ladies, gents, and all, because stuff happens in this one.
> 
> As a reminder, to perhaps stave off some confusion later on:  
> I'm sure most already know, but do *you* know what happens when you scan the Wolf-Link Amiibo in to Breath of the Wild?

Somewhere beyond the ring of light provided by the lone torch, snow melted on the broken roof and dripped into dark puddles. Colin already had two close calls on the slick stone walkway, but he was more careful now. His free hand crept along the wall, searching for the telltale fissure that would become his doorway into the Keep’s armory. The corner of the building loomed closer, but just as the trainee was convinced that he’d missed his entrance, his thumb caught on the crumbling stone edge. He mouthed a swear that he had picked up from Groose and stuck the thumb in his mouth before slipping one leg through the crevasse, and then the other.

It was a tight fit, but after half a minute spent wriggling and tearing new holes in his tunic, the initiate made it through. He considered himself lucky--he wouldn’t have made it past the heavy padlock barring the front doorway. The hole was new, or newly widened, anyway, the product of a snap-freeze and thaw. Rusl explained this to the perspicacious trainee when they were here last. For once, Colin let the lesson in one ear and out the other, instead surveying every sword and instrument of war that lined the walls of the room. He knew he wouldn’t have time to try each blade now.

Colin rested the torch in a sconce and hurried to the smallest of the blades. Lifted from the rack and twirled around a few times, the trainee knew this sword wouldn’t do. Its center of gravity was positioned about where the trainee wanted it, but the blade felt no lighter than the wooden swords that he trained with. Where he was going, he would need something with enough heft to slice through armor, be it steel, leather, or quilted cloth. Colin replaced the weapon and reached for another, this one a whole handspan longer and the bulkiest of those he earmarked.

The trainee struggled to even lift this blade from its mount, even with both hands. With a final tug, it flew free--and out of the trainee’s grasp. It clattered on the floor, disturbing the otherwise still night. Colin didn’t even bother trying to pick it up. No doubt, someone was already on their way to investigate the noise. Time was not on the young trainee’s side.

Colin scanned the shelves for the last of the swords just as the light from his torch started flickering its last. Without the mutations of a fully mutated knight, the initiate would be as good as blind. The light held out, however, and as one of the dancing shadows lept and pranced, a glimmer caught the trainee’s eye. There it was, at last! He dashed to the opposite corner of the room and tore the blade from the wall. This one would do. No, more than that--this one was perfect! Neither too heavy nor too light, with a center of gravity just past the crossguard and a wicked edge to boot, the weapon felt like it was made for him. Knowing Rusl and Eagus, perhaps it was. There were no other trainees at the Keep to offer it to, anyway. The thought pained Colin. Hadn’t his betrayal hurt enough, already?

For all his practice writing, for all his notes and conjectures and challenges to Rusl’s teachings and several new theories of his own, he hadn’t left a note to his mentor and friend. And father, or as close to one as any of the knights ever had. There was just nothing to say. Link had left to go answer to some injustice in the world, and now so would he, mutations or not. The war wouldn’t wait till next autumn, for the next series of trials. Nor would he.

Colin raced towards the corner of the room where freedom awaited him. Going out was easier than coming in, even with the sword, and the trainee was safely engulfed in the darkness beyond the wall well before the armory’s doors burst open, revealing Rusl and the tears that streamed down his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Link’s eyes slid open mid-step. He remembered falling asleep, but not  _ this _ forest around him, or the act of initiating motion, of getting up from his rest below the tree. Or of waking, for that matter. That had all changed, and so had he. But that was fine. He was walking, marching through a forest drowning in fog, but with a purpose, even though that purpose was not his own.

And so Link plodded along. It wasn’t as bad as he had thought, trailing behind someone’s heels. He could follow, for once, obey the torch’s glow and leave navigation to another: his companion in blue, a Hylian who he didn’t recall meeting. A friend, for sure, but beyond that, all was uncertain. The fog obscured the details of his figure, but a sword hung in a scabbard along his back, beneath long straw-colored locks.

His nose was once again acting up. The plants, the trees, the squirrels and their seeds, they all tickled his snout with their unfamiliarity. Had Midna jinxed him again? Link peered into the gloom, but saw no trace of his companion. His shadow was his own, more or less, and no teasing laughter emanated from behind. Strangely he couldn’t smell her, either, but instead _everything_ carried a faint hint of her magic. Or just magic in general. Had he always been able to detect that?

The torch abruptly came to a halt and Link collided with its holder, letting out a yelp of surprise and protest. _A little warning, next time?_ The torch inched an arm’s length down one path, then down another identical split in the trees. The wind carried the embers down the latter trail, and so Link, the torch, and the torchbearer set off once more.

The clinking shackle and chain around his ankle resumed its rhythm of rattle, scrape, rattle, scrape. This binding, unlike the last, wasn’t willing to relinquish its hold on his leg, but Link didn’t mind. The broken restraint reminded him of his companion from another world. Inexplicably, thoughts of her were calming, though her navigational skills were surely missed. Even with the ember’s aid, they got lost several times, and wound up at the same copse of trees more than once. The torchbearer huffed after one such occurrence and reached over to Link. The touch was comforting and reassuring, spurring him to dash in a little circle once the hand had moved from behind Link’s ear. Through the mist Link could make out the torchbearer’s smile, a wan, determined smirk that Link was certain he’d seen somewhere before.

The flame burned low, but given enough time to settle, the embers always told the way. Patiently, this time, the pair proceeded through the forest’s twists and turns, finally emerging in a clearing devoid of the rest of the forest’s gloom. Sunlight streamed down through the branches of a mighty tree whose highest limbs towered over the forest’s canopy.

The torchbearer spun in a circle, laughing in triumph and taking in the sights. Small leafy creatures chatted and ducked behind the foliage as the pair walked further into the clearing. Link’s companion doused his torch before stowing it in his pack. Together, they drew nearer to the large tree until the Hylian in blue turned to Link.

“Stay here,” he said, before moving on. “Good boy.”

Link did as he was told, but only begrudgingly. The grass tickled his haunches as he sat, resting his muzzle on his paws, and he could feel a dozen pairs of eyes come to rest on him from the virid creatures.

Link’s companion stopped halfway to the tree, coming upon a stone platform partially concealed by underbrush and erosion. A single dull rod protruded from a pedestal, and for a moment Link couldn’t make out what it was.

The second the Hylian’s hand first brushed the hilt, a squall blew through the forest, rustling his blue tunic and sending an alarmed chittering through the clearing’s inhabitants. The companion’s hand shot back as if shocked by static and he paced around the sword once, examining it from every angle. Finally, his gaze returned to Link, an apologetic frown on his face. A face not unlike a glance in a mirror. A growl built in the back of Link’s throat, though he couldn’t explain why.

“Sorry pooch. This will hurt me a lot more than it’ll hurt you. But probably not by much.”

Link barked a warning, but by then it was already too late. His companion turned back to the sword.

“Silver for monsters,” the Hylian in blue muttered. He grunted, bent his knees, and gripped the sword with two hands. And pulled.

Both man and mutt howled in pain as everything faded to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tent flap lifted and fell silently as if a gust of wind had only wanted a quick peek inside. The wind, however, had no business in the royal Gerudo pavilion. Nabooru did.

“Lord Dragmire,” she said from the tent’s entrance, holding her hands crossed in a salute in front of her chest.

Ganondorf didn’t look up from the map spread across several tables, but the Gerudo’s second-in-command approached nonetheless. She stood a good head taller than he, but the difference was even more accentuated when he hunched over the weathered parchments, as he did now.

Rather than interrupt whatever scenario was playing out in the Emperor’s head, Nabooru joined him at the table. A single glance informed her that not much had changed since she had last studied the position of her troops and the strengths of the enemy’s fortifications. Hyrule’s entire southern border had about two dozen red clay figurines lined up in three neat rows. Several black chess pieces joined their ranks, the most recent addition to the balance of powers. The inclusion of the Twili warriors complicated their diagrams and confounded the warlords who relied exclusively on outdated manuscripts like Mixed Unit Tactics, but to neglect to account for their combat prowess in calculations would be a sure folly.

Comparatively, fifteen blue pieces stood in parallel on the land while another five dotted the ocean and rivers. A single gold thread traced from Hyrule Castle to the Lost Woods, coming to rest in an untidy spool around a landmark forgotten by all but time itself.

The Lord of the Gerudo pushed a single red piece forward with a forked rod that glittered with gold trim. Slowly it marched forward, slipping past the border to collide with the nearest blue figurine. He shook his head and reversed the change with a matching slow stroke.

“Any word from the Twinrova?” Ganondorf asked, finally looking up from the table.

Nabooru wrinkled her nose at the mention of the witches. “No, sir.”

“Then what business do you have here?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.

Nabooru sighed and dropped her salute. “I want to confirm, my lord, that you wish to continue with this plan. Declaring war is prudent, marching forward is necessary, but I am certain that we can win without these… unnecessary precautions.”

“How interesting,” Ganondorf mused, speaking slowly and evenly so that the venom in his words could seep deeper into his lieutenant. “My own council, who once declared me a bloodthirsty _War Pig_ , now pushes for an entirely avoidable war. Wouldn’t you rather see this conflict resolved peacefully?”

“We don’t know how the people would react, even assuming the princess is willing!” Nabooru said. “Which I doubt she would be, after the stunt Zant pulled in getting her out of the castle.”

“The law is the law. As such, Hyrule would have no choice.” Ganondorf paused, turning away from the map on the table to study a chart of the stars hanging against the side of the tent. Nabooru could almost feel the rage boiling under his skin, and was grateful that she at least wouldn’t have to stare at his face any longer.

“Zant is an interloper,” he continued. “And inconsequential. And therefore disposable. As for Zelda...”

“You talk about legality, but a wedding under such auspices could hardly be considered such. It would never pacify the kingdom, not after all that’s been done! Besides, for Din’s sake, she’s your own dau--”

“Silence!” Ganondorf roared, twirling around and causing the dust and sand to swirl underfoot and the tent flap to blow open again. Nabooru didn’t flinch, though her mouth slid shut as if on rusty hinges.

The dust settled before the Emperor spoke again.

“Inheriting an intact, functional Hyrule is preferable to paying--with blood--for a kingdom of rubble and corpses.”

“It is sick. And dishonorable,” the Gerudo warrior said through clenched teeth.

Ganondorf tore his ferocious gaze from his second-in-command, raking his eyes instead over the lines on the map. Gradually, his visage softened.

“Do not think for a second I will take pleasure in this,” he said, eyes returning to Nabooru. “But it must be done. You know it. And I know it.”

She had no response for him, instead letting the wind outside speak for her.

“Besides,” he said, regaining his composure. “Zant has yet to prove himself. He broke off communications yesterday. You may get your war after all, Nabooru.”

Ganondorf strode over to a short, wide chest lying on a table. Not bothering with the key, he tore the lock off and tossed it aside before retrieving the container’s contents: a gleaming white sword with an ornate hilt.

“In case it does come to battle… Aveil recovered this from a Zora warship off our coast. Tell me, what do you think?”

“It’s a beautiful blade, but it doesn’t suit you in the least,” Nabooru said, already on her way out of the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the update delay. Besides an abundance of schoolwork, I had an entirely different goal when I first started writing this, which was to incorporate a different fable/children's tale into each segment of this one. I got the Goldilocks part down, but really stalled when it came to the other two, and so I ended up writing a bulky first draft that really wasn't any good besides obtusely accomplishing that secondary task. So I basically rewrote everything, tweaked some minor story elements, scrapped the cumbersome fables, and here we are.
> 
> We're starting to dip our toes into some Witcher-y story points here. If you've got questions, I'll answer them without spoilers if I can. And of course, I'd love to hear any comments, too. Thanks for all the input I've gotten so far. All of it. Really, I started this project as just an attempt to flex my narrative muscles (and out of lockdown-induced boredom), and I'm always trying to improve my craft.
> 
> Edit: Thanks, y'all, for the gentle critiques. I've updated the opening tag to hopefully get everyone's heads pointed in the right direction, and inserted a paragraph that will hopefully clue everyone in to the nature of Link's little vision.
> 
> In case it still isn't clear, that's BotW Link, our Link is dreaming (it's my headcanon that the wolf you can get in BotW is just TP Link), and yes, Link is imagining himself as a wolf.
> 
> Sorry for any unnecessary confusion I've caused you early readers, but I won't lie, I'm delighted to actually get comments on my work from multiple people, and just hours after posting in addition. Granted, it wasn't the ebullient praise that I was hoping for, but I'll take what I can get at this point. Every bit helps. I think my next chapter update will just be "asdasdasd", just so I can enjoy all the confused comments. Muhuahahahaha! Not really. But thanks, guys.


End file.
